THE    MINOR    POEMS 

OF 

JOSEPH    BEAUMONT,  D.D. 


•      •  »  •  •  •   • 


C&%#L<r7&s 


THE  MINOR   POEMS 


OF 


JOSEPH  BEAUMONT,  D.D. 


1616-1699 


EDITED  FROM  THE  AUTOGRAPH  MANUSCRIPT 
WITH  INTRODUCTION  AND  NOTES 

BY 

ELOISE    ROBINSON 


1  >  » 

BOSTON 

AND    NEW 

YORK 

HOUGHTON 

MIFFLIN 
1914 

COMPANY 

This  edition  is  issued  under  the  auspices  of  the  department  of 
English  Literature,  Wellesley  College.  Gratitude  is  due  to  Miss 
Caroline  Hazard,  Miss  Eunice  Cole  Smith,  Professor  George 
Herbert  Palmer,  and  especially  to  Miss  Helen  J.  Sanborn,  for 
making  the  publication  possible. 

KATHARINE  LEE  BATES, 

General  Editor. 


3&7UIK- 


CONTENTS 


INTRODUCTION— 

PAGE 

I.  Manuscript     .            .            .            .            .                        •     xiii 

II.  Life      .... 

xvi 

III.  Poetry 

xxviii 

SUSPIRIUM                .... 

I 

Reasonable  Melancholy 

4 

Death     ..... 

8 

Loves  Mysterie 

11 

Civill  Warr      .... 

12 

Tabula  Secunda  in  Naufragio 

14 

Jesus  inter  Ubera  Maria 

16 

Davids  Elegie  upon  Jonathan 

18 

Cantic.  Chap.  2  .        . 

19 

Thou  shalt  call  His  Name  Jesus 

20 

Love        ..... 

22 

Love        .... 

26 

Ad  S.  Angelum  Custodem     . 

27 

The  Gnat 

3i 

The  Sluggard  .... 

33 

Bedtime  .... 

35 

Dull  Devotion 

36 

The  Waters  of  H.  Baptisme 

38 

VlRGINITIE 

40 

Affliction 

43 

The  True  Love-Knott 

•      45 

Fasting  .... 

47 

The  Little  Ones  Greatnes  . 

49 

The  Voyage 

5i 

x          Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

PAGE 

S.  Mary  Magdalen's  Ointment       ..... 

250 

Lemniscus  ad  Columnam  S.  Simeonis  Stylitae  appensus 

253 

S.  Gregorie  Nazianzen          ...... 

260 

S.  Joseph            ..... 

275 

Natalitium  :  Martj  13,  1645  . 

280 

Anniversarium  Baptismi 

285 

A  Friend            ..... 

288 

Temporall  Success      .... 

292 

eH  yAya7n]  ov  £r)T€i  t<x  eavrijs 

296 

Humane  Revenge        .... 

298 

SUSPIRIUM   AD    AMOREM 

30I 

The  Sheepherd            .... 

303 

Hope        ...... 

306 

Idleness             ..... 

308 

The  Complaint             .... 

3IO 

The  Wound       ..... 

312 

The  Cheat        ..... 

313 

The  Combat      ..... 

315 

The  Pretence  ..... 

316 

The  Pilgrim      ..... 

318 

Bioddvaros         ...... 

321 

The  Crie           ...... 

322 

Whiteness,  or  Chastitie       .... 

324 

A  Morning  Hymn        ..... 

325 

An  Evening  Hymn       ..... 

326 

Hymnus  ad  Christum,  proxime  coofpandi  in  S 

.  Presbytera- 

tus  Ordinem          ..... 

327 

Paulo  post  Ordination  em 

329 

Natalitium        .            .            .            . 

331 

Anniversarium  Baptismi        .... 

334 

Submission         ...... 

337 

A  Preparatory  Hymne  to  the  Week  of  Meditacions  upon, 

&  Devout  Exercise  in  the  Historie  of  Christ  ;  composed 

for  my  Friend      ....... 

340 

A  Conclusorie  Hymne  to  the  same  Week  ;   &  for  my  friend 

343 

Content             ........ 

346 

A  Secret  Sigh              ....... 

35o 

The  Relapse     ...... 

. 

352 

Contents 

xi 

PAGE 

Jealousy            ....                       ...     354 

A  Dialogue 

356 

A  Dialogue 

358 

Once  &  Ever    . 

361 

Epiphanie  Carol 

362 

TevedXiaKOv 

364 

Annivers  :  Baptismi     . 

369 

Easter  Dialoge 

372 

The  Surrender 

374 

Upon  my  Fathers  Sudden  & 

Dangerous  £ 

SICKNES 

s 

376 

TevedXiaKov 

378 

Anniversarium  Baptismi 

383 

YevtdXiaKov 

385 

Anniversarium  Baptismi 

389 

YtvtdXiaKov 

.  392 

Annivers  :  Baptismi     . 

396 

The  Journe 

.  398 

The  Winter-Spring     . 

•  399 

The  Gentle  Check     . 

401 

The  Sentinel  . 

.  403 

The  Farm 

. 

•  405 

News 

. 

•  407 

The  Duell 

•  409 

The  World 

. 

.  411 

The  Servant 

. 

•  413 

Game 

.  415 

Ascension 

.  418 

Friends  . 

. 

.  420 

The  Bankrupt 

. 

.  422 

Detraction 

. 

.  424 

Virtue    . 

. 

.  426 

Thrift    . 

.  428 

Avarice  . 

. 

.  430 

Honor     . 

. 

.  432 

Physik    . 

. 

•  434 

Selflove 

.  436 

Pentecost 

. 

•  438 

Witt 

. 

.  440 

xii        Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

PAGE 

Entertainment            .......  442 

Riches     .........  444 

The  Alarm        ........  446 

S.  Barnabie       ........  448 

The  Gardin       ........  450 

Palmestrie        ........  452 


NOTES 453 


INTRODUCTION 


I.   MANUSCRIPT 


The  unique  manuscript  of  Dr.  Joseph  Beaumont's  minor  poems 
is  the  property  of  Professor  George  Herbert  Palmer,  of  Harvard 
University.  Professor  Palmer  bought  the  book  in  September 
191 1,  from  Mr.  Bertram  Dobell,  the  London  bookseller  and 
publisher,  who  purchased  it  at  one  of  the  sales  of  the  Sir  Thomas 
Phillipps  collection.  Beyond  that  point  it  seems  impossible  to 
trace  the  manuscript.  A  thick  quarto  volume,  whose  leaves, 
coloured  red  on  the  edges,  measure  7  J  x  5 -J  inches,  it  is 
covered  with  calfskin.  On  the  back  is  printed  in  gilt,  Poems, 
1643,  making  it  probable  that  this  is  not  the  original  binding, 
but  one  supplied  when  it  came  into  the  Phillipps  collection,  or 
earlier,  as  the  author  was  then  evidently  unknown.  The  close- 
ness of  the  binding,  also,  precludes  the  likelihood  that  the  pages 
were  written  after  the  book  was  in  its  present  form.  The  number 
of  leaves  is  173,  of  which  four  at  the  beginning  and  six  at  the 
end  are  blank.  The  verso  of  the  last  leaf  and  the  lower  half  of 
the  recto  are  also  unwritten.  The  manuscript  is  especially  well 
preserved ;  in  only  two  pages  is  the  margin  slit,  and  nowhere  is 
it  much  discoloured.  The  paper  itself  is  stiff,  with  a  hard  writing 
surface,  and  non-absorbent. 

Two  different  hands  appear  in  the  manuscript,  that  of 
Beaumont  in  the  body,  and  a  later  hand  in  correction,  in  all 
probability  that  of  the  editor  of  the  selective  1749  edition,  J.  G., 
as  it  occurs  only  in  poems  marked  for  publication  there.  Pigot 1 
says  these  initials  stand  for  John  Gee,  M.A.,  Master  of  Peter- 
house.  In  Professor  Palmer's  copy  of  the  1749  edition  the 
initials  have  been  so  filled  out,  and  the  title-page  inscribed  as 

1  Pigot,  Hugh,  Hadleigh,  The  Town,  the  Church,  and  the  Great  Men,  p.  x^ 

xiii  b 


xiv       Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

follows:  "John  Gee,  M.A.,  Master  of  Peterhouse  and  rector  of 
Kelshall  in  Hertfordshire."  Beaumont's  is  an  English  hand  with 
Italian  intermixture,  particularly  as  regards  capitals,  and  quite 
legible  except  in  a  few  of  the  corrections.  At  page  235  there 
comes  an  abrupt  change  in  the  writing,  consistently  maintained 
to  the  end.  In  the  opening  stanza  of  the  first  poem  in  which  it 
occurs,  Beaumont  accounts  for  the  variation  thus  quaintly : 
Tire'd  with  my  PSYCHE,  (for  ye  Song 
Though  wondrous  hudled,  yet  was  long.1 

The  difference  lies  mainly  in  the  formation  of  some  of  the  letters, 
notably  /  and  /  and  N,  M,  F,  P.  Again,  the  lines  are  closer 
together,  averaging  fifty  to  a  page,  while  those  in  the  first  part  of 
the  book  average  thirty.  The  ink  is  a  dark,  rich  brown,  almost 
black — except  in  the  case  of  one  poem,  where  it  is  a  light  red- 
brown — and  retains  a  good  colour  even  when  thin ;  that  in  the 
earlier  pages  is  lighter  and  has  a  greyer  tone ;  the  last  half  is  in 
places  written  with  a  finer  pen.  In  most  cases  the  use  of  then 
for  than  is  discontinued,  and  because  is  written  bycause ;  heart, 
hart;  if,  yf  In  general,  it  is  more  carelessly  done  and  more 
difficult  to  read  than  the  earlier  portion. 

Throughout,  the  spelling  is  uneven,  variants  of  the  same  word 
occurring  on  a  single  page.  The  principal  peculiarities  are  the 
doubling  of  a  final  consonant,  especially  r,  I  and  t,  or  of  a  medial 
c,  I  or  /;  the  omission  of  the  final  s  in  the  terminations  ness, 
less  ;  the  substitution  of  ie  for  y  at  the  end  of  a  word  j  the  addi- 
tion of  e  to  many  words,  almost  invariably  to  do,  go,  lo,  self,  and 
those  in  ///,  n,  s,  I;  the  forming  of  the  plural  in  es  instead  of  s ; 
the  use  of_v  for  i  and  of  k  for  c,  or  of  both  together;  in  as  a 
prefix  for  en,  ie  for  ei,  and  vice  versa.  The  apostrophe  is  usually 
omitted  in  the  possessive  case,  and  frequently  where  elision  takes 
place;  later,  however,  the  presence  of  both  the  e  and  the 
apostrophe  is  not  rare,  i.e.  cure'd.  Beaumont  sometimes  uses 
the  manuscript  ~  for  the  doubling  of  m,  and  the  A  for  an  h ;  the 
long  s  is  not  infrequent,  but  as  its  use  seems  to  be  a  matter  of 
whim,  it  has  not  been  kept  in  this  text.  Beaumont  has  a  device 
of  writing  in  very  large  letters,  not  capitals,  words  he  wishes  to 
make  especially  prominent.  For  lack  of  printing  facilities,  such 
words  have  been  incorporated  in  the  text  in  capitals.  Capitaliza- 
tion is  frequent,  but  irregular,  mostly  in  nouns. 

1  See  p.  280. 


Introduction  xv 

The  second  hand,  that  of  J.  G.,  is  later.  The  ink  is  a  decided 
brown  in  colour,  lighter  than  the  ink  of  the  later  pages  of  the 
manuscript,  and  richer  in  tone  than  that  used  earlier.  This 
hand  is  seen  in  marginal  corrections  and  alterations  of  the 
original  text.  In  a  number  of  places,  notably  in  the  P  placed 
above  poems  selected  for  publication,  a  pencil  has  been  used. 

A  number  of  the  poems  are  marked  For  a  Base  and  two  trebles, 
or  with  similar  directions  for  a  musical  setting.  Attention  may- 
be called  here  to  the  initials  placed  above  a  few  poems  in  the 
volume.  Before  the  hymn  from  Ascension,  and  before  The 
Sheep  herd ,  we  find  : 

Sett  to  j  parts 
for  voices  & 
violls.  by  R.  C. 

before  Whiteness,  or  Chastitie,  is  : 

Set  to  4  pts. 
by.  T.  T. 

While  it  is  probable  that  these  refer  merely  to  music  composed 
for  the  pieces  by  R.  C.  and  T.  T.,  still  it  is  interesting  to 
remember  that  R.  C.  and  T.  T.  are  the  initials  of  two  con- 
temporary poets,  one  of  whom  Beaumont  certainly  knew,  and 
with  the  other  of  whom  he  may  well  have  been  acquainted — 
Richard  Crashaw  and  Thomas  Traherne. 

The  manuscript  contains  177  poems ;  of  these  thirty  were 
published  in  the  1749  edition  with  large  omissions,  here 
mentioned  in  the  textual  notes.  In  addition,  the  1749  volume 
contained  eleven  poems  from  a  second  manuscript,  written  in 
Beaumont's  hand  between  June  and  September,  1652.1  The 
verses  selected  by  J.  G.  for  publication  are  fairly  representative, 
although  many  of  the  finer  pieces  are  not  included.  Besides  the 
English  poems,  he  printed  seventeen  in  Latin,  to  which  are 
appended  thirty-two  pages  of  Latin  prose,  consisting  of  a  disserta- 
tion on  miracles  and  extracts  from  critical  notes  on  Paul's 
Epistles!1  The  poems  of  the  1749  edition,  English  and  Latin, 
Grosart  has  added  to  the  second  volume  of  his  reprint  of 
Beaumont's  Psyche. 

1  This,  Gee  tells  us,  was  entitled  Cathemerina  ;  the  poems  were  intended  as 
exercises  preparatory  to  the  duties  of  the  day.  The  fate  of  this  manuscript  is 
not  known.  2  See  Introduction,  p.  xviii. 


xvi       Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 


II.   LIFE 

Joseph  Beaumont  was  born  in  the  town  of  Hadleigh,  in 
Suffolk,  on  the  13th  of  March,  1616.  This  we  learn  from  the 
evidence  of  several  of  his  own  poems  written  in  commemoration 
of  that  event ; x  from  his  own  poems,2  too,  as  well  as  from  the 
parish  register,3  we  know  he  was  baptized  on  the  21st  of  the 
same  month.  His  biographers  agree  that'  he  was  descended 
from  the  Grace-dieu  and  other  Leicestershire  Beaumonts,  though 
they  are  unable  to  trace  the  links  between  that  branch  of  the 
family  and  the  poet.4  The  father  of  Joseph  Beaumont  was  John 
Beaumont,  a  clothier,  whom  Gee  describes  as  employing  "the 
moderate  fortune  allotted  to  him  as  a  younger  brother,  in  the 
Woollen  Manufacture,"  and  further  adds  : 

He  was  several  times  elected  into  the  chief  Magistracy  of  that 
Town,  which  character  he  supported  with  a  proper  and  becoming 
dignity ;  and  having  lived  in  good  credit  and  reputation  upon  an 
easy  fortune,  though  greatly  impaired  by  his  adherence  to  the  Royal 
Cause,  he  died  in  the  69th  year  of  his  Age,  May  the  12th,  1653. 
From  some  MSS.  now  in  the  editor's  hands,  he  appears  to  have 
been  a  sensible,  judicious,  and  religious  man,  and  competently 
learned  for  the  station  he  filled  in  the  world.5 

The  mother  of  the  poet  was  Sarah  Clarke  of  East  Berghdt.6 

Even  in  his  earliest  years  Beaumont  showed  an  inclination  to 
letters,  so  that  his  father  determined  to  send  him  to  the  Hadleigh 
Grammar  School.7  The  Master  at  that  time  was  William 
Hawkins,  who,  having  taken  holy  orders,  was  "continually 
sighing  for  duties  more  nearly  clerical,"  and  who  later  gave  up 
his  office  to  become  curate  to  the  rector  of  Hadleigh.8  He  was 
something  of  a  poet ;  one  of  his  productions,  Apollo  Shroving, 

1  See  pp.  82,  280,  331,  364,  378,  385,  392. 

1  See  pp.  86,  285,  334,  369,  383,  389,  396.  3  Pigot,  p.  158. 

4  Gee,  John,  "An  Account  of  the  Life  and  Writings  of  the  Author,"  in  Original 
Poems  in  Latin  and  English,  by  Joseph  Beaumont,  D.  D.  Cambridge,  1749, 
p.  1.  Pigot,  p.  157.  Grosart,  Alexander,  ed. ,  The  Complete  Poems  of  Dr.  Joseph 
Beaumont,  vol.  i.,  Introd.  p.  1.  In  the  register  of  Burials  of  Hadleigh,  in  1586 
occurs  the  name  of  Julian  Beaumont,  Clothier,  "and  it  is  added  in  another, 
though  ancient  handwriting,  '  father  of  Edward  and  John  of  Hadleigh  and  son 
of  Robert  of  Bilderston,  who  came  out  of  Leicestershire.'  " 

8  Gee,  pp.  l-ii. 

6  East  Anglian  Notes  and  Queries,  April,  i860,  pp.  73-4. 

7  Gee,  p.  ii.  8  Pigot,  p.  176. 


Introduction  xvii 

was  written  for  the  boys  of  the  Grammar  School,  and  acted  by 
them  on  Shrove  Tuesday,  the  6th  of  February,  1626.  Beaumont 
took  part  in  the  character  of  Page  to  Captain  Complement ;  he 
also  spoke  the  prologue  and  the  epilogue.1  In  1634  Hawkins 
published  a  volume  of  verses  in  Latin  entitled  Corolla  Varia  .  .  . 
Ecloguae  tres  Virgilianae  declinatae.  .  .  .  Nisus  verberans  et 
vapulans,  decantatus  per  Musas  vt'rgiferas,  Juridicas?  To  this 
curious  and  clever  volume  Beaumont  contributed  some  com- 
mendatory Latin  verses.3 

Thus,  under  the  instruction  of  Master  Hawkins  and  the  "  eye 
of  his  watchful  parent,"  4  Beaumont  spent  his  boyhood,  reading 
the  "  most  valuable  Authors  of  Antiquity  with  taste  and  digesting 
them  with  judgment."4  Gee  tells  us  he  was  so  fond  of  Terence, 
and  so  "  desirous  of  imitating  the  elegant  turn  and  sprightliness 
of  that  Authors  style,"  that  to  the  end  of  his  life  he  carried 
about  in  his  pocket  a  small  edition  of  the  poet.4 

In  November,  1631,  a  boy  of  fifteen,  Beaumont  was  sent  to 
Peterhouse,  at  Cambridge.5  If  we  may  accept  the  assertions  of 
Gee,  always  eulogistic,  he  soon  became  extraordinarily  proficient 
in  every  branch  of  University  learning. 

Thus  respected,  beloved  and  carressed,  our  young  student  spent 
his  four  first  years  in  the  University,  where  he  never  lost  sight  of 
the  ends  for  which  he  was  placed  there,  the  acquirement  of  know- 
ledge, and  the  improvement  of  virtue :  he  strictly  observed  the 
Statutes  of  the  University,  and  those  of  his  College,  he  constantly 
attended  at  the  Chapel  hours  of  Devotion,  with  meek  and  unaffected 
Piety  ;  and  his  exercises  of  every  kind  were  performed  with  so  much 
accuracy  and  judgment,  that  they  were  then  heard  with  the  greatest 
pleasure,  and  remembered  many  years  after  with  the  highest 
applause.6 

Beaumont  himself  has  given  us  an  interesting  glimpse  of  these 
school   and   college  years  in  a  poem  written  for  his  birthday,7 

1  Grosart,  vol.  i.  p.  lxxxii.  2  Pigot,  p.  178. 

3  For  an  amusing  account  of  this  volume,  and  a  transcript  of  the  verses,  see 
Grosart,  vol.  ii.  p.  235.  4  Gee,  p.  iii. 

5  The  admission  Book  of  Peterhouse  contains  the  following  entry  : 

Nov.  26.  Josephus  Beaumont  Snffolc 

1 63 1.      admissus  Pensionarius  sub  custodia 
Mri.  Home. 
Grosart,  p.  xii.     See  also  Poems,  p.  83. 

6  Gee,  p.  v.  7  Page  82. 


xviii     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

March  16,  1643.  He  was  admitted  Bachelor  of  Arts  in  1634; 
in  November,  1636,  as  a  reward  for  superior  merit,  he  received 
the  first  fellowship  vacant  after  he  was  qualified  to  hold  the 
position  by  his  B.A.,  "with  the  consent  and  approbation  of  the 
whole  society.  "  1  Two  years  later  he  proceeded  M.A.  in  company 
with  Richard  Crashaw,  to  whom  he  pays  a  tribute  in  his  Psyche!1 

And  by  this  heart-attracting  Pattern  Thoti 

My  only  worthy  Self  thy  Songs  didst  frame  : 

Witness  those  polish'd  Temple  Steps  which  now 

Stand  as  the  ladder  to  thy  mounting  fame  ; 

And,  spight  of  all  thy  Travels,  make't  appear 
Th'art  more  in  England  than  when  Thou  wert  here. 

More  unto  others,  but  not  so  to  me 

Privy  of  old  to  all  thy  secret  Worth  ; 

What  half-lost  I  endure  for  want  of  Thee, 

The  World  will  read  in  this  mishapen  Birth. 
Fair  had  my  Psyche  been,  had  she  at  first 
By  thy  judicious  hand  been  drest  and  nurst. 

The  quiet  life  at  Cambridge  and  the  election  to  the  fellowship 
gave  Beaumont  the  opportunity  to  pursue  a  plan  of  study  which 
he  had  marked  out,  that  of  making  himself  familiar  with  the 
scriptures  in  Hebrew,  and  thence  examining  the  state  of  Christi- 
anity from  the  beginning  down  to  his  own  time.  According  to 
Gee 3  he  was  well  fitted  to  take  up  such  a  task,  since  he  had 
"exhausted  the  fountains  of  Greek  and  Roman  learning,"  was 
thoroughly  familiar  with  oratory,  poetry  in  all  its  forms,  and 
philosophy.  Beaumont's  second  editor,  Grosart,  however,  takes 
just  exception  to  the  high  praise  which  Gee  bestows  upon  the 
scholarly  attainments  of  the  poet,  pointing  out  that  his  Latin  was 
not  of  the  best  in  verse  or  prose,  and  that  the  extracts  from  the 
dissertations,  annotations,  and  explanations  of  Scripture  published 
in  the  1749  edition  are  commonplace  in  content  and  awkward  in 
expression.  As  to  the  critical  quality  of  his  thought,  even  Gee 
is  forced  to  admit  that  in  the  De  Legendis  Sanctorum  Historiis 
Dissertatio  he  "  lays  himself  open  to  the  charge  of  more  credulity 
than  will  be  admitted  into  the  system  of  modern  opiniators." 4 
Grosart  goes  so  far  as  to  call  him  an  intellectual  valetudinarian, 
while  acknowledging  that  the  quantity  of  his  work  was  enormous. 

1  Gee,  p.  v.  2  Canto  iv.  st.  107-8. 

3  Gee,  pp.  v-ix.  4  Gee,  p.  ix. 


Introduction  xix 

It  is  curious  to  find  Beaumont  himself  voicing  the  same 
opinion.1 

My  itching  mind  proudly  desir'd  to  piie 

Into  what  ever  Learnings  Title  wore. 

With  unfledgd  wings  I  often  towred  high, 

And  snatch'd  at  things  above  my  pitch,  before 

I  had  sure  hold  of  what  beneath  did  lie. 

Yet  on  I  ventur'd  still,  &  caught  at  more  ; 

I  caught  ye  Wind  of  Words,  wch  by  a  Blast 
Of  following  Notions  soon  away  were  past. 

If  Beaumont's  labours  leave  something  to  be  desired  in  the 
quality  of  his  scholarship,  the  same  cannot  be  said  in  regard  to 
the  amount.  Besides  the  study  of  Hebrew2  and  a  critical 
commentary  upon  the  Bible,2  he  made  a  digest  of  the  lives  of 
the  Saints  and  Martyrs,  one  for  each  day — a  circumstance  to 
which  we  no  doubt  owe  many  of  his  poems,  and  these  not  the 
most  fortunate.2  He  wrote  a  dissertation  in  defence  of  miracles 
wrought  since  the  days  of  the  apostles,  and  made  "  large  and 
useful "  extracts  from  the  early  church  Fathers.  He  prepared  a 
treatise  descriptive  of  the  calamities  of  the  Roman  empire  under 
the  sons  of  Theodosius ; 3  in  this  he  drew  a  parallel  to  the  state 
of  his  own  country,  just  then  on  the  verge  of  civil  war.  The 
direction  of  Beaumont's  sympathies  may  be  gathered  from  the 
arguments  which  go  to  show  the  fatal  end  of  "  factious  conten- 
tions" and  the  ultimate  success  of  "  Piety  and  Catholik  religion." 
At  this  time  he  had  been  appointed  by  the  Master  of  Peterhouse 
"guardian  and  director  of  the  manners  and  learning  of  the 
students  of  that  society,"  an  office  which  he  filled  with  so  much 
discretion  that  "  he  led  those  under  him  to  the  practise  of  every 
virtue,  not  so  much  by  friendly  and  moving  admonitions,  in 
which  he  excelled  most  men,  as  by  his  persuasive  and  insinuating 
example,  in  which  he  most  surely  excelled  all."  4  According  to 
Gee,  it  was  one  of  the  happiest  circumstances  of  Beaumont's  life 
that  not  one  of  the  young  men  of  the  "  best  families  "  who  were 
under  his  instruction  failed  to  espouse  the  royal  cause.  In  164 1, 
when  the  outbreak  of  the  rebellion  brought  trouble  to  more  than 

1  Page  84.  2  See  Gee,  pp.  vi-viii,  xiv. 

3  Both  Gee  (p.  xiv)  and  Pigot  (p.  159)  claim  that  this  work  was  published  in 
1641,  containing  401  pages  quarto  ;  Grosart,  on  the  other  hand,  denies  its 
publication  (pp.  xv-xvi).  The  book  is  not  mentioned  by  Wood,  Bentham,  nor 
Lowndes.  4  Gee,  p.  iii. 


xx        Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

one  scholar,  Beaumont  had  recourse  to  religious  studies  as 
"  being  the  best  entertainment  and  surest  consolation  for  a 
dejected  mind." *  In  this  employment,  says  Gee,  he  passed  the 
summer  of  1643 — the  last  he  was  to  spend  in  the  University 
until  the  Restoration — "  writing  daily  meditations  upon  the  attri- 
butes of  God." 2 

Yet  in  all  probability  his  scholastic  pursuits  were  not  left 
wholly  undisturbed.  We  read  of  how  the  University  had  good 
reason  to  fear  the  Roundhead  army.3 

Some  (of  the  soldiers)  that  durst  discharge  a  Musket  made  it 
their  practise  to  terrifie  us,  and  disturbe  our  Studies  by  shooting  in 
at  our  windows.   .  .  . 

Upon  these  reasons  (which  no  judicious  man  will  esteem  other- 
wise than  weighty),  we  endeavoured  to  convey  away  some  part  of 
our  Plate  about  the  beginning  of  August,  1642.  .  .  .  But  within  a 
few  days  after  .  .  .  One  Master  Cromwell,  Burgesse  for  the  Towne 
of  Cambridge^  and  then  newly  turned  a  Man  of  Warre,  was  sent 
downe  by  his  Masters  ...  to  gather  what  strength  he  could  to  stop 
all  passages  that  no  Plate  might  be  sent.  But  his  Designes  being 
frustrated,  ...  he  hath  ever  since  bent  himself  against  us.  In 
pursuit  whereof,  before  that  month  was  expired  downe  he  comes 
again  in  a  terrible  manner  with  what  Forces  he  could  draw  together, 
and  surrounds  divers  Colledges,  while  we  were  at  our  devotion  in 
our  several  Chappells,  taking  away  Prisonres,  several  Doctors  of 
Divinity,  Heads  of  Colledges.  .  .  . 

And  that  the  whole  Body  of  the  University  might  fare  no  better 
than  the  Heads,  not  long  after  the  carrying  off  of  the  first  three  .  .  . 
instead  of  carrying  us  all  off  to  London  Gaoles  (thanks  to  our 
multitude,  not  to  their  mercy),  they  found  a  device  to  convey  a  prison 
to  us,  and  under  colour  of  Fortification  confin'd  us  onely  in  a  larger 
inclosure,  not  suffering  any  Scholars  to  pass  out  of  Towne.  .  .  . 

How  often  have  our  Colledges  been  beset  and  broken  open  and 
guards  thrust  into  them  sometimes  at  midnight,  while  we  were  asleep 
in  our  beds  ?  How  often  has  our  Librarie  and  our  Treasurie  been 
ransackt  and  rifled.    .   .    .    How  often  hath  the  small   pittance  of 

1  Gee,  p.  xiv. 

2  Gee,  p.  xv.  Pigot  says  the  book  was  published.  Grosart  (note,  p.  xvi) 
denies  this,  but  as  before  fails  to  cite  his  authority.  Whether  printed  book  or 
MS.,  it  contained,  according  to  both  Gee  and  Grosart,  205  pages,  quarto. 

3  Querela  Cantabrigiensis  :  /  Or /  A  Remonstrance  j  By  way  of  Apologie  I  for  the 
banished  Members  /  of  the  j  late  flourishing  University  /  ofj  Cambridge  /  By  some  of 
the  said  Sufferers.  /  Oxford  1646.  / 


Introduction  xxi 

Commons,  which  our  Founders  and  Benefactors  allotted  for  our 
sustenance  been  taken  away  off  our  tables  by  the  wanton  Soldiers  ? 
.  .  .  For  two  years  they  have  set  themselves  upon  little  else  then 
to  seize  and  take  away  our  goods  and  furniture  belonging  in  our 
Chambers,  prizing  and  selling  our  books  at  a  tenth  part  of  their 
value.  .  .  .  Their  malice  has  extended  in  quartering  multitudes  of 
common  soldiers  in  those  glorious  and  ancient  structures  ...  by 
them  made  mere  bawdy-houses  and  spittles  for  sick  and  debauched 
soldiers,  being  rilled  with  Queans,  Drabs,  Fiddlers,  &  Revels  night 
and  day. 

But  matters  were  to  be  yet  worse.     Gee l  says  : 

A  fatal  turn  was  given  to  the  King's  affairs,  by  the  Scots  army 
coming  into  England  in  the  year  1644,  and  declaring  for  the 
parliament  at  Westminster,  by  which  they  gained  a  manifest  superi- 
ority, they  rightly  judged  that  to  secure,  at  least,  one  of  the  seats  of 
learning  to  their  interest,  would  add  weight  and  credit  to  their  party, 
and  that  this  could  be  effected  by  no  other  method  than  the  applica- 
tion of  their  superior  force  ;  it  was  therefore  one  of  the  first  uses 
they  made  of  their  new-gotten  power,  to  send  orders  to  the  Earl  of 
Manchester,  to  whom  they  had  given  the  command  of  the  associated 
Counties,  to  garble  and  model  the  University  of  Cambridge,  where 
Mr.  Beaumont's  avowed  affection  to  the  king's  cause  exposed  him 
among  the  first,  to  the  keenest  edge  of  their  resentment. 

Following  Gee,  Grosart  places  the  time  of  Beaumont's 
expulsion  from  Cambridge  at  1644,  and  further  quotes  a  rescript 
from  the  register  of  Peterhouse.2 

Whereas  in  pursuite  of  an  ordinance  of  Parliament  for  regulating 
and  reforming  of  the  University  of  Cambridge,  I  have  ejected  Mr. 
Beaumont,  Mr.  Penniman,  Mr.  Crashaw,  Mr.  Holder,  Mr.  Tyringham, 
late  fellowes  of  Peterhouse.  And  whereas  Mr.  Charles  Hotham, 
Robert  Quarles,  Howard  Becher,  Walter  Ellis,  Edward  Sammes, 
have  been  examined  and  approved  by  the  assembly  of  Divines  now 
sitting  at  Westminster,  according  to  the  said  ordinance  as  fitt  to 
be  Fellowes.  These  are  therefore  to  require  you,  and  every  of  you 
to  receive  the  said  Charles  Hotham,  Robert  Quarles,  Howard 
Becher,  Walter  Ellis,  Master  of  Arts  ;  and  Edward  Sammes  Bachr, 
as  fellowes  of  your  Colledge  in  room  of  the  said  Mr.  Beaumont, 
Mr.  Penniman,' Mr.  Crashaw,  Mr.  Holder,  Mr.  Tyringham,  formerly 

1  Gee,  pp.  xvii-xviii.  2  Grosart,  p.  xvi. 


xxii     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

ejected,  and  to  give  them  place  according  to  their  seniority  in  the 
Universitie,  in  reference  to  all  those  that  are  or  shall  hereafter  be 
putt  in  by  me  according  to  the  Ordinance  of  Parliament  aforesaid. 
Giuen  under  my  hand  and  seale  the  eleaventh  day  of  June  anno 
1644- 

Manchester. 

To  the  Master,  President  and  Fellowes 

Of  Peterhouse  in  Cambridge. 

Here  we  may  notice  that  the  fellows  are  mentioned  as 
"formerly  ejected,"  which  merely  places  the  date  before  June, 
1644.  Bentham1  and  Dyce2  give  the  date  of  ejection  as 
April  8,  1644,  but  without  stating  their  authority.  Moreover, 
several  poems  in  the  manuscript  point  to  the  ejection  as  taking 
place  as  early  as  before  January  1,  1644.  An  especially  strong 
indication  of  this  is  found  in  the  following,  written  between 
March  21,  1643,  and  January  1,  1643  (1644).8 

What,  does  thy  Study  lure  thee,4 
Within  it  to  immure  thee, 
And  stow  up  thy  Provision 
Of  learned  Ammunition  ? 
Alas  vaine  Project,  Plunder 
Has  broke  that  Plot  in  sunder :  ' 
Cambridge,  thy  genuine  Mother, 
Is  force'd  to  be  no  other 
But  step-dame,  &  reject  thee 
Though  once  she  did  elect  Thee. 
Tis  well,  God  doth  not  fashion 
By  Man's,  his  Reprobation, 
Tis  well,  thy  new  &  Noble 
Society  doth  double 
Thy  Comfort :  gallant  Spirits 
(Men  of  abused  Merits) 
With  Thee  are  Reprobated. 

If  we  may  trust  Gee's  statement,  that  these  poems  were  written 
after  the  expulsion  from  Cambridge,  when  Beaumont  had  retired 
to   Hadleigh,   we  may  place  the   ejection  even  earlier — before 

1  Bentham,  James,    The  History  and  Antiquities  of  the  Conventual  Church 
of  Ely  to  177 1.     Norwich,  1812.    p.  262. 

2  History  of  the  University  and  Colleges  of  Cambridge.     London,  18 14.     Vol. 
ii.  p.  22. 

3  The  poems  of  the  manuscript  are  evidently  written  in  chronological  order, 
beginning  some  time  before  March,  1643,  and  ceasing  in  June,  1652. 

4  Page  128. 


Introduction  xxiii 

March,  1643.  The  poems  that  most  clearly  bear  out  this  theory 
are  Tabula  Secunda  in  Naufragio}  House  6°  Home,2  Patience? 
The  Check.*-  The  Pilgrim?  too,  contains  significant  stanzas,  as 
this: 

What  though  my  Books  &  I  be  parted  ? 
I  know  all  Freinds  at  last 
The  Parting  Cup  must  taste. 
And  now  to  me  the  World's  converted 
Into  one  Library  where  I  may  read 
The  mighty  Leavs  of  Providence  wide  open  spred. 

Thus  we  find  Beaumont  in  Hadleigh  early  in  1643,  surrounded 
by  other 

gallant  Spirits 
(Men  of  abused  Merits), 

still  occupied  in  religious  and  literary  pursuits.  Before  June, 
1652,  he  had  written  the  poems  here  printed;  a  second  book  of 
lyrics  entitled  Cathemerina,  and  designed  as  religious  preparatory 
exercises  for  the  duties  of  the  day  ;  a  volume  of  Latin  verses  ;  and 
Psyche,  a  poem  in  twenty-four  cantos,  setting  forth  in  allegory  the 
"intercourse  between  Christ  and  the  Soul."  But  "poetical 
excursions  were  not  Mr.  Beaumont's  studies,  but  his  amuse- 
ments ;  not  the  serious  busines  of  his  life,  but  reliefs  from  the 
ennui  and  irksomeness  of  being,  which  in  that  long  divorce  from 
Books,  could  not  but  oppress  his  active  and  vigorous  mind."  6 
His  real  occupation  lay  in  the  writing  of  a  "  clear  account  of  the 
book  of  Ecclesiastes,  and  large  critical  notes  upon  the  Penta- 
teuch." Likewise,  Gee  tells  us,  he  daily  performed  the  service 
of  the  liturgy  in  his  father's  house,  and  preached  on  Sunday. 

The  latter  fact  has  led  Gee,  and  Grosart,  following  Gee,  to 
suppose  that  Beaumont  had  taken  deacon's  orders  before  leaving 
the  University.  That  this  was  not  the  case  we  may  infer  from  a 
poem  entitled  Hymnus  ad  Christum,  proxime  cooptandi  in  S. 
Presbyteratus  Ordinem,  immediately  followed  by  verses  Paulo 
post  Ordinationem,  bearing  the  date  February  27,  1647,  four 
years  after  the  expulsion  from  Cambridge. 

If  Beaumont's  poems  are  any  index  to  his  feelings,  it  is  not 
surprising  that  he  was  forced  to  give  place  at  Cambridge  to  one 
more  in  sympathy  with  the  Puritan  cause.       He  rails   against 

1  Page  14.         2  Page  60.         3  Page  73. 

4  Page  75.         5  Page  318.        6  Gee,  p.  xxiv. 


xxiv     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

"blackest  Parliaments"  and  the  "insolent  Vulgar";  the  "Pres- 
byterian God," 

demurely  drest 
In  solemn  Weeds, 

and  the  "  apostate  scum  of  Vassals  "  who  abandon  their  King ; 
the  Roundheads,  and  their  master,  the  Devil.  He  heaps  scorn 
upon  those  "intruding  drones,"  the  Puritan  successors  in  the 
Cambridge  fellowships.  He  sees  Britain  made  the  "isle  of 
Monsters,"  and  of  rebels  who  disdain  their  monarch  ;  he  pictures 
the  Commons  trampling  down  will  and  reason  and  murdering 
their 

royal  Lord 
Whose  guilt  was  nothing  but  his  gentle  reign. 

The  wonder  is,  if  he  made  such  opinions  known,  that  he  escaped 
as  well  as  he  did. 

In  fact,  Beaumont  did  not  suffer  so  heavily  as  some  of  his 
contemporaries  by  the  turn  affairs  had  taken.  He  was  fortun- 
ately in  the  patronage  of  Bishop  Wren  of  Ely,  who  had  been 
Master  of  Peterhouse  *  during  Beaumont's  first  years  there.  Wren 
was  one  of  the  most  ardent  as  well  as  the  most  intellectual  of  the 
Laudians,  and  a  faithful  and  powerful  friend.  In  1642  a  Bill 
was  sent  up  to  Commons  against  him,2  charging  him,  in  twenty- 
five  articles,  with  being  popishly  inclined,  a  suppressor  of  preach- 
ing, and  an  extortioner.  Some  of  the  gravest  accusations  were 
that  he  preached  "in  a  gown,  not  a  cloke,"  and  read  prayers  "in 
a  surplice,"  and  set  aside  Sunday  afternoons  for  exercise.  He 
was  committed  to  the  Tower,  September  1,  1642,  where  he 
remained  a  prisoner  for  nearly  eighteen  years.3  But  during  this 
time  he  regularly  collated  to  all  preferments  in  his  diocese,  and 
Beaumont  reaped  no  small  share  of  the  appointments.  Between 
1643  and  1664  he  was  given  the  rectories  of  Kelshall  in  Hert- 
fordshire,4 Elm  cum  Emneth  in  the  Isle  of  Ely,  Gransden  Parva 

1  Graduati  Cantabrigiensis  sive  Catalogus,  ab  anno  r6^<p-Oct.  12,  1823. 
Collegii  Divi  Petri  Praefecti,  1626,  Matthaeus  Wren.  Episc.  Hereford,  1634. 
Bentham  gives  the  date  July  25,  1625. 

a  For  the  articles  see  Nalson,  Collections,  vol.  ii.  p.  397  ;  also  Prynne,  William, 
Canterburies  Doom,  pp.  373-7,  and  Thomas  Widdringtori 's  Speech  /  on  Tuesday  / 
The  20th  of  July,  1641  /  at  a  Conference  betweene  J  Both  Houses,  j  at  the  transmis- 
sion of  the  impeachment  I  against  Matthew  Wren,  Doctor  in  Divinity  /  late  Bishop 
of  Norwich,  and  now  /  Bishop  of  Ely.  /  London,  E.  G.  for  R.  Best  / 1 641.  / 

3  Bentham,  pp.  200,  201. 

4  Bentham,  pp.  262,  266  ;  and  Gee,  passim. 


Introduction  xxv 

in  Cambridgeshire,  of  Connington  and  Teversham  in  the  same 
county,  and  of  Barley  in  Hertfordshire.  Likewise  he  held  the 
seventh — later  the  eighth — canonry  and  Prebend  in  the  Cathe- 
dral Church  of  Ely,1  and  was  domestic  chaplain  to  Bishop  Wren. 

During  this  time  Beaumont  had  become  acquainted  with  a 
Miss  Brownrigg,  daughter  of  an  eminent  merchant  of  Ipswich  in 
Suffolk,  and  step-daughter  of  Bishop  Wren.  This  lady  was 
heiress  to  a  considerable  estate;  she  had  been  trained  by  the 
bishop,  her  guardian,  in  all  "polite  accomplishments  as  well  as 
religious  duty."  Gee  tells  us  that  "Mr.  Beaumont  had  never 
flattered  himself  with  the  most  distant  hope  of  such  a  wife,  with 
so  fair  an  estate,"  but  one  reading  certain  poems  written  about 
this  time  is  inclined  to  think  differently.2  At  all  events,  the 
Bishop  was  well  content  to  have  his  chaplain  for  a  son-in-law, 
and  Beaumont  and  Elizabeth  Brownrigg  were  married  in  1650; 
Gee  3  says  the  wedding  ceremony  was  performed  in  the  chapel  at 
Ely  House  by  Dr.  Wren  himself,  but  as  the  Bishop  was  at  this 
time  in  the  Tower,  this  would  seem  to  be  a  mistake.  Beaumont 
soon  retired  with  his  wife  to  Tatingston,  the  estate  he  had  acquired 
with  her,  where  they  "enjoyed  the  pleasures  of  a  social  life."4 

Thus  Beaumont  spent  the  ten  years  that  elapsed  before  the 
Restoration  "  in  such  application  to  the  duties  of  his  profession 
as  the  then  condition  of  the  times  would  allow  of,  and  in  the 
constant  practise  of  every  virtue  becomming  a  good  man  and  a 
Christian." 5  At  the  Restoration  Beaumont  was  appointed  one 
of  the  chaplains  to  Charles  II. ;  it  appears  that  he  took  up  his 
residence  at  court;  Gee  would  have  it  that  "he  was  thought 
worthy  of  his  Majestie's  particular  notice,  and  frequently  admitted 
to  private  conversation  with  him."  6  However,  Beaumont  never 
received  any  more  material  evidence  of  the  royal  favour  than  a 
mandamus  to  the  University  to  create  him  Doctor  of  Divinity  in 
1660. 

Early  in  1661  the  poet  removed  to  Ely  at  the  special  request 

1  Pigot  says  he  was  elected  to  the  sixth  stall  in  1647,  hut  this  is  a  mistake. 

2  See  pp.  337,  350,  367,  374,  378,  385.  3  Gee,  p.  xxx. 

4  Grosart  is  wrong  in  supposing  that  all  of  Beaumont's  minor  poems  belong  to 
the  time  of  his  residence  at  Tatingston  Place.  Grosart  infers  this  from  Gee's 
statement  that  the  Cathemerina  were  written  May  17-Sept.  3,  1652.  The  only 
poems  written  after  his  marriage  are  those  from  page  392  to  the  end,  twenty-eight 
in  all. 

5  Gee,  p.  xxxi.  6  Ibid. 


xxvi     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

of  Bishop  Wren.  The  foggy  air  of  the  fens  proved  fatal  to  Eliza- 
beth Beaumont's  delicate  constitution;  she  died  May  31,  1662,1 
and  was  buried  behind  the  altar  at  Ely,  under  a  "  decent  monu- 
ment "  thus  inscribed  : 

Quod  mori  potuit 

Lectissimae,  Desideratissirnaeque 

Conjugis 

Elizabethae  Bellomontanae 

Sub  Hoc  Marmore  Condidit 

Moestissimus  Maritus 

J.B. 

Hujus  Ecclesiae  Canonicus 

Maii  31,  An.  Dom. 

1662. 

Grosart  has  quoted  in  his  memorial  Introduction  2  the  beautiful 
elegy  for  Elizabeth  Beaumont  which  appeared  in  the  1702  edition 
of  Psyche?  A  few  stanzas  may  serve  here  to  suggest  the  tone  of 
the  whole  : 

Sweet  Sou/,  how  goodly  was  the  Temple  which 
Heav'n  pleased  to  make  thy  earthly  Habitation  ! 
Built  all  of  graceful  Delicacy,  rich 
In  Symmetry  ;  And  of  a  dangerous  fashion 

For  youthful  Eyes,  had  not  the  Saint  within. 

Govern'd  the  Charmes  of  her  inamoring  Shrine. 

How  happily  compendious  didst  Thou  make 

My  study  when  I  was  the  Lines  to  draw 

Of  genuine  Beauty  !  never  put  to  take 

Long  journies  was  my  fancy ;  still  I  saw 

At  home  my  Copy,  and  I  knew  'twould  be 
But  Beauty's  wrong  further  to  seek  then  Thee. 

Delight  was  no  such  thing  to  her  ;  if  I 
Relish'd  it  not :  the  Palate  of  her  Pleasure 
Carefully  watch'd  what  mine  could  taste,  and  by 
That  standard  her  content  resolv'd  to  measure. 
By  this  rare  art  of  sweetness  did  she  prove 
That  though  she  joy'd,  yet  all  her  Joy  was  Love. 

So  was  her  Grief :  for  wrong'd  herself  she  held 
If  I  were  sad  alone  ;  her  share,  alas 
And  more  then  so,  in  all  my  Sorrow's  field 
She  duly  reap'd  :  and  here  alone  she  was 

1  Gee,  p.  xxxiv.  2  Pages  xxiii-xxiv. 

3  Canto  xviii.  st.  1-56. 


Introduction  xxvii 


Unjust  to  me.     Ah  dear  injustice,  which 
Mak'st  me  complain  That  I  was  loved  too  much  ! 


O  how  she  welcomed  her  courteous  Pain, 

And  languished  with  most  serene  Content  ! 

No  Paroxysms  could  make  her  most  complain, 

Nor  suffer'd  she  her  Patience  to  be  spent 

Before  her  Life  ;  contriving  thus  to  yield 
To  her  disease,  and  yet  not  loose  the  field. 

She  dyrd  ;  but  to  that  Life's  possession  flew 

In  hopes  of  which  alone  before  she  lived. 

Alas,  I  only  perish'd,  who  in  shew 

Was  left  alive  ;  and  she  who  dy'd,  survived. 
None,  none  this  wofull  Riddle  feels  but  I, 
Hers  was  the  Death,  but  mine  the  Tragedy. 

The  death  of  this  dearly  beloved  wife  left  Beaumont,  then  a 
man  of  forty-five,  with  the  charge  of  four1  little  children,  only 
one  of  whom  lived  to  maturity.  Shortly  before  his  bereavement, 
the  Mastership  of  Jesus  College  had  been  obtained  for  him  by 
Dr.  Wren.2  Thither  Beaumont  now  went.  Finding  the  chapel 
"dilapidated"  he  set  about  to  repair  it  at  his  own  expense.3 

The  death  of  Dr.  Hale,  Master  of  Peterhouse,  in  the  year 
1663,  gave  the  faithful  Bishop  Wren  a  new  opportunity  of 
showing  his  esteem  for  Beaumont.  Not  without  some  juggling 
on  the  part  of  the  Bishop,4  Beaumont  was  appointed  Master  on 
April  24,5  still  holding  the  various  livings  that  had  accrued  to 
him.  The  following  year  he  entered  into  a  controversy  with 
Dr.  Henry  More,  upon  some  doctrines  advanced  in  that  distin- 
guished divine's  Mystery  of  Godliness,  which  seemed  to  Beaumont 
"not  only  subversive  of  our  excellent  constitution  both  in  Church 
and  State,  but  also  productive  of  many  evils  in  the  Christian 
Religion."  6  The  controversy,  according  to  Gee,  was  handled  by 
him  with  "so  much  modesty,  learning,  wit  and  judgment,  that 

1  Gee  says  six,  but  see  Psyche,  xviii.  15-18. 

2  Graduati  Cantabrigiensis.  Beaumont,  Josep.  Pet.  S.T.P.  per  Literas 
Regias,  1661  ;  Coll.  Jes.  Mag.,  1662;  Coll.  Pet.  Mag.,  1663;  Theol.  Prof. 
Reg.,  1674. 

3  Pigot  prints  a  MS.  belonging  to  Mr.  Read,  of  Ipswich,  showing  that  "Dr. 
Balders  received  of  Dr.  Beaumont  the  summ  of  tenn  pounds  as  a  free  gift  for 
making  ye  Organs  and  repeiring  ye  Chappell  of  ye  same  College.     Oct.  29,  1664. " 

4  See  Grosart,  pp.  xxvi-xxxi. 

5  See  note  2  above.  6  Gee,  p.  xxxix. 


xxviii    Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

he  received  the  thanks  of  the  University,  and  a  testimony  of  the 
good  opinion,  which  that  Body  had  of  the  performance,  was 
added  to  the  usual  Imprimatur."  x  It  was  probably  at  this  time 
that  Beaumont  drew  for  the  altar  of  Peterhouse  chapel  pictures, 
long  since  perished,  in  chalk  and  charcoal.  Carter,  the  Cam- 
bridgeshire historian,  thought  the  Wise  Man's  Offering  on  the 
north  side  particularly  fine.2 

Gee3  says  it  was  in  1670  that  Beaumont  was  appointed 
Regius  Professor  of  Divinity.  The  Cambridge  records  above 
quoted  show  that  the  office  was  not  given  to  him  until  1674. 
This  chair  he  filled  for  twenty-five  years,  and  "applied  himself 
with  the  utmost  punctuality  and  diligence  "  to  his  duties.4  He 
read  public  lectures  twice  a  week,  explaining  the  difficult  passages 
of  Paul's  Epistles  {Romans  and  Colossians).  At  his  own  request 
these  were  never  published,  by  which  Gee  declares  that  "  true 
religion  is  deprived  of  great  jewels."5  We  read  that  he  took 
needy  students  into  his  own  home,  allowing  them  the  use  of  his 
library,  and  entertained  many  of  the  noted  men  who  came  to 
Cambridge. 

Dr.  Beaumont  continued  to  discharge  the  duties  of  his  office 
until  his  eighty-fourth  year ;  he  preached  before  the  University  on 
the  5th  of  November,  1699.  When  the  services  were  over  he 
was  attacked  with  chills  and  fever,  and  died  on  the  23rd  of 
the  same  month.  He  was  buried  in  the  college  chapel,  under 
a  "black  marble  in  the  floor";6  a  mural  monument,  also,  was 
erected  to  his  memory. 


III.  POETRY 

There  are  comparatively  few,  aside  from  literary  scholars,  to 
whom  the  verses  of  this  minor  seventeenth-century  poet  will 
appeal.  He  belonged  to  the  little  group  of  men,  endowed  with 
a  real  love  of  poetry,  who  departed  from  the  idealism  and 
romance  of  Spenser,  and  from  the  melodious  and  idyllic  songs  of 
the  court  lyrists,  to  give  voice  to  the  worship  and  need  of  God  in 

1  For  the  less  favourable  view,  see  Grosart,  p.  xxxii. 

2  Willmott's  Sacred  Poets,  ist  series,  p.  339.      Pigot,  p.  165. 

3  Page  xl.  4  Ibid. 

5  Gee,  p.  xli. 

6  John  Nichols,   West  Goscote  Hundred,  vol.  iii.  pp.  734-5. 


Introduction  xxix 

the  human  heart.  Of  this  school  was  Donne,  who  had  at 
once  an  intense  enjoyment  of  the  world  that  now  is,  and  an 
intense  intuition  of  the  world  unseen.  To  this  school  belonged 
Crashaw,  with  his  flame  and  ardour  of  spiritual  life,  firing  all  that 
he  touched  with  mystic  passion ;  and  Herbert,  the  ascetic,  who 
talked  as  man  never  talked  before,  face  to  face  with  God ;  and 
Vaughan,  occasionally  out-Herberting  Herbert  in  curious  conceits, 
but  with  a  love  of  Nature  for  her  own  sake,  a  poet  to  whom  the 
world  was  but  a  veil  of  the  eternal,  of  the  divine  presence  felt  in 
even  the  smallest  flower  or  bird.  Here  Traherne  takes  his  place, 
he  who  had  the  highest,  most  ecstatic  vision  of  them  all,  to  whom 
life  was  apocalypse. 

To  this  fellowship  Beaumont  belonged,  none  the  less  surely  in 
that  he  was  the  least  of  its  singers.  It  would  be  hard  to  find 
one  more  truly  the  child  of  his  age,  one  whose  character  was 
more  typically  that  of  the  seventeenth-century  poet  and  divine. 
We  have  seen  how  the  circumstances  of  his  life  in  the  university, 
in  court,  in  the  church,  and  his  royalist  sympathies  were  such  as 
would  bring  him  into  contact  with  the  religious  poetry  and  poets 
of  his  day,  and  cultivate  the  habit  of  mind  which  was  character- 
istic of  his  contemporaries.  The  tastes  of  these  poets  were 
scholarly  ;  they  enjoyed  hours  in  the  library,  music,  quiet  observa- 
tion of  Nature.  They  preached  an  apparently  tame  morality,  but 
one  seldom  achieved  save  by  those  to  whom  it  comes  by  nature. 
Poetry  was  to  them  a  pastime,  the  occupation  for  whole  days  of 
meditation  and  reflection — work  that  was  shaped  rather  from 
intellectual  mood  than  emotion.  Moreover,  they  consciously 
turned  aside  from  the  writing  of  sonnets  to  a  mistress's  eyebrow  to 
consecrate  their  poetic  gift  to  holy  things.  About  the  time  he 
was  seventeen  Herbert  wrote  his  well-known  dedication  of  his 
talent  to  the  Church.  Vaughan,  in  the  author's  preface  to  the  1655 
edition  of  Si/ex  Scintillans,  expressed  the  same  determination : 

That  the  kingdom  hath  abounded  with  those  ingenious  persons, 
which  in  the  late  notion  are  termed  Wits,  is  too  well  known.  Many 
of  them  having  cast  away  all  their  fair  portion  of  time  in  no  better 
employments  than  a  deliberate  search,  or  excogitation  of  idle  words, 
and  a  most  vain,  insatiable  desire  to  be  reputed  poets.  .   .  . 

The  suppression  of  this  pleasing  and  prevailing  evil  lies  wholly  in 
their  bosoms  who  are  the  gifted  persons  by  a  wise  exchange  of  vain 
and  vicious  subjects,  for  divine  themes  and  celestial  praise.  .  .   . 

c 


xxx      Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

To  effect  this  in  some  measure,  I  have  begged  leave  to  com- 
municate this  my  poor  talent  to  the  Church,  under  the  protection 
and  conduct  of  her  glorious  Head,  Who,  if  he  will  vouchsafe  to  own 
it  and  go  along  with  it,  can  make  it  as  useful  now  in  the  public,  as 
it  hath  been  to  me  in  private. 

We  find  Beaumont  writing  : 1 

O  Mighty  Love, 

Thou  Universall  Life  &  Soule 

Whose  Powers  doe  move 

And  reigne  alone  from  Pole  to  Pole, 

Give  Me  thy  Worthlesse  Subject  leave  to  sing 

My  due  Allegiance  to  ye  Worlds  Sweet  King. 

Let  other  Muses 
Goe  court  ye  Wanton  Mysterie 

Of  lewd  abuses 
Into  a  young  spruce  Deitie  : 
Mine  does  no  homage  owe,  but  unto  Thee, 
Who,  whilst  ye  other's  blind,  do'st  all  things  see. 

What  most  surely,  then,  marks  Beaumont  as  belonging  to  the 
school  of  Donne,  is  the  religious  temper  of  his  poetry.  He 
sings  of  the  divine  as  a  lover  of  his  mistress ;  in  the  words  of 
Herbert,  he  makes  religion  "wear  Venus'  livery."  Inheriting 
the  religious  bent  of  the  poets  of  this  school,  he  inevitably 
inherits  also  the  tincture  of  quaintness,  the  infelicity  of  conceits, 
that  characterized  them.  Certain  stock  phrases  and  common 
tropes  he  echoes  as  regularly  as  troubadour  or  trouvere  ever 
echoed  the  mediaeval  conventionalities.  Too  often  he  models 
after  his  contemporaries  in  writing  hymns  on  church  festivals  or 
incidents  of  Scripture,  hymns  to  which,  in  his  case,  can  usually  be 
applied  but  one  epithet — banal.  Herbert,  perhaps,  was  the  only 
one  of  these  poets  who  escaped  becoming  at  times  trivial  or 
ludicrous.  Beaumont,  on  the  other  hand,  fell  most  frequently 
into  the  pit.  It  is  not  that  he  was  incapable  of  seeing  the  beauty 
around  him  ;  in  these  poems  there  are  many  instances  of  genuine 
and  simply  expressed  feeling  for  Nature  and  for  the  little  happen- 
ings of  life ;  neither  can  we  doubt  the  sincerity  of  his  religious 
experience ;  yet  in  common  with  the  other  poets  he  made  these 
the    occasion    for   subtle    mind -play,    the    starting-point   for   a 

1  Loves  Monarchie,  p.  94. 


Introduction  xxxi 

multitude  of  conceits  and  verbal  ingenuities  where  artifice  is 
undistinguished  from  reality. 

In  all  this  Beaumont  belongs  to  the  school  of  Donne.  If  we 
attempt  to  go  further,  this  question  meets  us  on  the  threshold  : 
What  is  the  exact  relation  in  which  Beaumont  stands  to  his  con- 
temporaries ;  what  is  the  debt  he  owes  to  them  ? 

As  in  Psyche  Beaumont  refers  to  Crashaw,1  it  is  interesting  to 
find  in  the  same  poem  the  following  tribute  to  Herbert.2  After 
praising  Pindar  and  Horace  he  writes  : 

(Yet  neither  of  their  Empires  was  so  vast 

But  they  left  Herbert,  too,  full  room  to  reign  ; 

Who  lyric's  pure  and  pretious  metal  cast 

In  holier  moulds,  and  nobly  durst  maintain 

Devotion  in  verse,  whilst  by  the  sphears 

He  tunes  his  Lute,  and  plays  to  heaven'ly  eares. ) 

It   is   to  the   poetry  of  these  two  men  that  we  find  most 

resemblances  in  Beaumont's  work.     But  that  there  is  a  further 

debt  is  evident  at  the  outset  from  a  comparison   of  the  mere 

titles  of  the  lyrics.     With  Traherne,  whom  possibly  he   knew 

through  Bishop  Wren  of  Hereford,  he  has  in  common  the  titles 

of  News,  The   World,  A  Dialogue.     From  Donne's  The  Flea  he 

took  the  idea,  if  not  the  exact  title,  of  his  curious  poem   The 

Gnat.     Titles  identical  with  Donne's  are  The    Will,  Self-Love, 

Jealousy,    Annunciation,   Ascension,    Good   Friday,  A    Hymn    to 

Christ,    Death.      Both    Crashaw    and    Beaumont    have   poems 

upon   The    Waters  of  our  Lord's  Baptisme,  Easter  Day,  Hope. 

Beaumont  and  Vaughan  use  Death,   Content,  The  Relapse,  The 

Check,  Faith,  Affliction,  Easter  Day,  Trinitie  Sunday,  The  World, 

Ascension,  S.  Mary  Magdalen.     With  Herbert  he  has  in  common 

twenty-one  titles — Good  Friday,  H.  Baptisme,  Affliction,  Love, 

Whitsunday,     Trinitie    Sunday,    Christmas,    Dialogue,    Avarice, 

Conscience,   Content,    Death,    Easter,  Faith,   Home,   Hope,   Life, 

S.  Mary  Magdalen,  Submission,  Time,  The  World. 

A  study  of  the  form  of  Beaumont's  verse  also  tends  to  the 
conclusion  that  he  was  familiar  with  the  work  of  his  con- 
temporaries. It  is  not  surprising  to  find  in  the  mid-seventeenth 
century  a  lack  of  anapaestic  and  dactylic  feet,  but  we  might  expect 
a  larger  number  of  trochees.      In  over  three  hundred  closely 

1  Introduction,  p.  xviii.  2  Canto  iv. 


xxxii    Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

written  pages  of  manuscript  there  are  not  more  than  eleven 
poems  in  this  meter.1  Herbert  has  eleven,2  Crashaw  eight.3 
The  u  grave  Iambic's  grace  "  4  suited  the  purpose  of  these  poets. 
Everywhere  Beaumont's  rhythm  is  extremely  regular;  he  vies 
with  Herbert  in  constancy  and  exactitude.  In  neither  of  these 
two  poets  would  we  find  the  unevenness  that  is  noticeable  in 
Crashaw's  verse,  the  substitution  of  an  anapaestic  for  an  iambic 
foot,  or  an  intermixture  of  iambic  and  trochaic  verses.  In  all 
Beaumont's  poems  I  count  only  two  irregular  lines,  and  these 
vary  by  accident  merely  in  number  of  feet.  In  two  instances 
Beaumont  has  used  verses  of  six  feet ;  otherwise  his  longest  line 
has  ten  syllables,  his  shortest  two.  Herbert  uses  no  alexandrine 
and  his  shortest  verse  has  two  syllables.5  Beaumont  is  fond  of 
short  lines — fully  two -thirds  of  the  poems  contain  trimeters, 
dimeters,  or  monometers  ;  in  this  he  is  like  Crashaw. 

These  verses  of  from  one  to  five  feet  Beaumont  combines  in 
a  multitude  of  ways.  Herbert  has  a  hundred  and  twelve 
different  combinations,  some  of  which  Beaumont  uses,  as  well  as 
all  of  those  in  Crashaw's  longer  poems,  and  invents  new  ones  of 
his  own.  Although  he  likes  to  exercise  his  ingenuity  in  a  variety 
of  stanza  forms,  he  falls  short  of  Herbert  in  that  he  does  not 
catch  for  each  lyric  situation  the  lyric  setting  that  befits  it ;  his 
invention  is  rich  but  unresponsive  to  the  demands  of  mood. 
When  his  poems  are  written  in  the  curious  figurative  shapes  that 
pleased  the  fancy  of  the  seventeenth-century  poets,6  it  is  not 
because  that  form  suited  the  thought — unless  we  make  the 
possible  exception  of  Goodfryday  and  Easter — it  is  merely  for 
the  artifice  itself.  More  than  this  we  could  hardly  expect,  for 
Beaumont  was  not  primarily  a  poet,  but  a  scholar  and  a  divine ; 
he  made  verses  because  it  gave  him  pleasure,  not  because  genius 
compelled.  Beaumont  does  not  appreciate  the  interweaving  of 
Herbert's  rhyme,  though  he  sometimes  copies  Herbert's  simpler 

1  House  &  Home  ;  Purification  of  ye  B.  Virgin  ( i )  ;  the  hymn  from  Trinitie 
Sunday;  Anniversarium  Baptismi  (p.  285);  The  S  keep  her d ;  The  Complaint; 
The  Cheat;  Whiteness,  or  Chastitie ;  A  Morning  Hymn;  An  Evening  Hymn  ; 
A  Love  bargaine.     In  addition  there  are  occasional  stanzas  from  other  poems. 

2  Palmer,  George  Herbert,  The  Life  and  Works  of  George  Herbert,  vol.  i. 
p.  126. 

8  By  count.  4  See  p.  261. 

6  Professor  Palmer,  vol.  i.  p.  128,  says  three,  but  see  Gratefulness  and 
Longing. 

6  Such  as  wings,  temples,  columns,  altars,  etc. 


Introduction  xxxiii 

devices ;  nor  does  he  use  the  widely  separated  rhymes  that  often 
give  the  peculiar  shut-in  effect  of  Herbert's  verse,  nor  the 
recurrent  rhyme  that  accompanies  the  repetition  of  thought. 
Once  he  does  what  Crashaw  is  fond  of  doing, — writes  a  stanza 
of  six  verses  with  one  rhyme  j  other  stanza  forms  and  rhymes  are 
common  to  these  two  friends.  Beaumont's  rhymes,  like  those  of 
his  contemporaries,  are  sometimes  imperfect;  he  puts  together 
such  words  as  friend  and  behind,  fashion  and  creation,  share  and 
are,  mysterie  and  high,  that  and  got,  now  and  slow  ;  sequent 
rhymes  that  should  be  contrasted  often  jar  in  their  similarity  ; 
i.e.,  goes,  slow,  grows,  now;  forbear,  appear,  share,  fear. 
Beaumont  has,  too,  his  favourite  rhymes  :  pleasure  and  treasure — 
occurring  eleven  times  in  Herbert 1 — are  used  by  Beaumont  as 
many  times  on  the  first  thirty-seven  pages  of  the  manuscript ; 
storie  and  glorie — ten  times  in  Herbert 2 — appear  as  often  on  the 
first  thirty-six.  Other  common  rhymes  are  descry  and  eye,  light 
and  bright,  streams  and  beams,  hearts  and  darts,  things  and  wings ; 
all  these  are  used  again  and  again  by  Crashaw. 

There  are  a  dozen  devices  of  style  in  which  Beaumont  is  near 
of  kin  to  all  the  poets  of  the  school  of  Donne,  but  nearest  to 
Crashaw.  The  same  sort  of  compound  word — all-cheering,  all- 
obedient,  well-burning,  too-willing,  never-failing,  virgin-birth,  self- 
tormenting — is  to  be  found  in  the  poems  of  both.  There  are 
the  same  classical  allusions  to  Jove  and  Aurora,  Neptune  and 
Scylla,  Scythia  and  Lybia  and  Parnassus,  with  a  host  of  others ; 
the  same  puns  and  conceits ;  the  same  constant  repetition  and 
antithesis.  Plainly  akin  to  Crashaw  are  such  effects  as  these 
lines  upon  the  Muses  : 

For  more  of  them  ne'r  dwelt  upon 
Learned  Parnassus  double  head 
Then  harbour  in  thy  single  one  ; 3 

or  in  this  picture  of  Mary  Magdalen  anointing  Christ's  head  : 

The  Altar  where 
This  Offerer 
Doth  dedicate  her  Nard,  Gods  Temples  are.4 

But  Beaumont  owes  his  fellow-poets  much  more  than  spiritual 
quickening.     For  specific  suggestion   of  word   and  phrase  and 

1  Palmer,  vol.  i.  p.  133.  2  Ibid. 

3  Page  260.  4  Page  251. 


xxxiv     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

thought  he  is  indebted  to  almost  all  of  his  contemporaries  and 
predecessors.  In  the  poems  of  Raleigh,  Wotton,  Donne,  Herbert, 
Crashaw,  Milton,  Southwell,  there  are  literally  scores  of  parallels 
to  passages  in  his  work.     Milton's 

As  the  gay  motes  that  people  the  sunbeams  l 
is  certainly  echoed  in 

As  Atoms  in  ye  highnoone  Ray.2 

The   opening  verses   of  Reasonable  Melancholy  hold   a  second 
reminiscence  of  //  Penseroso.     Milton  has 
Hence,  vain  deluding  Joyes, 

Or  fill  the  fixed  mind  with  all  your  toys. 
Beaumont  writes : 

Tell  me  no  more  of  Sweets  &  Joyes  ; 

Nor  flatter  poor  unworthy  Toyes.3 

To  the  first  verses  of  E  Allegro  there  are  two  parallels  even  more 
convincing. 

Hence,  loathed  Melancholy \ 

Of  Cerberus  and  blackest  midnight  bom 
In  Stygian  cave  forlorn, 

'Mongst  horrid  shapes,  and  shrieks,  and  sights  unholy. 

In  Melancholie  4  Beaumont  imitates  : 

Out  hideous  Monster ;  in  thy  Name 

Blacknesse  &  furie  dwell  : 

Home  to  thy  Native  Hell, 
Whose  foule  Complexion  is  ye  same, 

The  same  with  thine  :  both  Hell  6°  Thee 
Proud  furious  DISCONTENT 
At  once  begat,  &*  sent 
DARKNESSE  your  Monstrous  Nurse  to  bee. 
5 


In  Death 


What  Furies  hand  rak'd  up  ye  monstrous  Deep 
Of  shame  and  horrour,  thence  to  fetch  an  heap 

Of  shapelesse  Shapes,  which  join'd  in  one, 

Make  up  thy  Constitution  ? 

Was  Night  thy  Mother,  or  was  Hell  ? 


1  //  Penseroso,  1.  9.  2  Love,  p.  24.  3  Page  4. 

4  Page  68.  6  Page  8. 


Introduction  xxxv 

Turning  to  Vaughan,  we  find  a  distinct  likeness  between  that 
poet's  Quickness  and  Beaumont's  Life,  although  Beaumont  has 
expanded  Vaughan's  poem  to  three  times  its  length.  There  is 
resemblance  in  thought  and  spirit  between  the  following  extracts 
from  these  poems.     From  Vaughan  : 

False  life  !  a  foil  and  no  more,  when 

Wilt  thou  be  gone  ? 
Thou  foul  deception  of  all  men, 
That  would  not  have  the  true  come  on. 

From  Beaumont : l 

Alas  poor  Life,  No  more  will  I 

Miscall  that  foule  Hypocrisie, 

By  which  Thou  stealst  ye  dainty  Face 

Of  Sweetnes,  and 

Dost  men  command 
To  court  &  idolize  thy  borrowed  grace. 

The  same  is  true  of  the  two  poems  called  Death.  Likewise  the 
hymn  from  Beaumont's  Trinitie  Sunday  has  the  form,  rhyme 
words,  and  the  main  thought  of  Vaughan's  poem  of  the  same 
name.  It  seems  quite  possible  that  Beaumont  may  have  taken 
the  idea  and  the  title  of  The  true  Love-knott  from  this  verse  in 
Vaughan's  The  Knot : 

Thou  art  the  true  Love's-knot. 

There  is,  too,  more  than  an  accidental  resemblance  between  these 
lines  of  Vaughan  : 

Time  now 
Is  old  and  slow, 

and  these  of  Beaumont : 2 

Alas,  though  time  be  now 
Grown  old,  he's  not  so  slow. 

The  same  likeness  appears  between  these  lines  from  Isaac's 
Ma?-riage : 

Thus  soar'd  thy  soul,  who,  though  young,  didst  inherit 
Together  with  his  blood  thy  father's  spirit, 

and  these  from  6".  John  Baptist :  3 

His  Friends  desir'd  He  might  inherit 
Both  his  great  Fathers  Name  &  Spirit. 

1  Page  76.  2  Page  6.  3  Page  217. 


xxxvi     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

Vaughan  writes  : 

A  silent  tear  can  pierce  thy  throne 

When  loud  joys  want  a  wing  ; 
And  sweeter  airs  stream  from  a  groan 

Than  any  arted  string. 

Bad  as  this  is,  it  was  not  too  bad  to  be  imitated  by  Beaumont  as 
follows  : 1 

One  Tear 
Flows  with  more  Honey  far 
Then  all  Hybkan  Hives  ;  one  pious  sigh 
Breathes  sweeter  aire 
Then  all  ye  faire 
Arabia,  &  can  sooner  reach  the  skie. 

Although  there  are  numberless  instances  where  Beaumont  has 
appropriated  Vaughan's  thought  and  phrasing,  perhaps  one  more 
will  suffice  here.      In  Regeneration  we  find  : 

And  let  me  die  before  my  death  ! 

Through  the  exigences  of  his  verse  Beaumont  makes  this,  in 
Love : 2 

Help  Mee  to  die, 

Lest  dangerous  Death 

Suck  up  my  breath. 

From  Herbert,  Beaumont  took  two  verses  almost  bodily : 
Love  is  a  present  for  a  mighty  king, 

from  The  Church  Porch,  appears  in  the  Losse  3  as 
Might  be  a  present  for  a  Mighty  King. 

The  refrain  from  The  Sacrifice, 

Was  ever  grief  like  mine  ? 

is  copied  exactly  in  Loves  Adventure.  In  The  Little  Ones  Great- 
nes  Beaumont  writes  : 4 

My  palace  door  was  ever  narrow  : 

No  Mountains  may 

Crowd  in  that  way, 
Nor  at  a  Needles  Eye  get  thorow. 

Heavens  little  Gate  is  onely  fit 

Deare  Babes,  for  you  ; 

1  Page  7.  a  Page  25.  3  Page  65.  4  Pages  49-50. 


Introduction  xxxvii 


which  is  a  reminiscence  of  Herbert's  lines  in  H.  Baptisme : 

Since,  Lord,  to  thee 
A  narrow  way  and  little  gate 
Is  all  the  passage,  on  my  infancie 

Thou  didst  lay  hold,  and  antidate 
My  faith  in  me. 

Again,  in  Praise,  Herbert  has 

.   .   .   poor  bees  that  work  all  day 
Sting  my  delay 
Who  have  a  work  as  well  as  they 

And  much,  much  more  ; 

which  appears  thus  in  The  Sluggard : l 

And  does  ye  Day  rise  more  for  Birds  than  Mee 
That  they  should  earlyer  bee 
At  work  then  I, 
Who  have  to  flie 
Higher  then  they,  &  bring 
A  Morning  Sacrifice 

Of  greater  price. 

The  following  couplet  is  from  Suspirium  : 2 

But  straight  some  worldly  Dust  flyes  up, 
And  my  too-willing  eyes  doth  stop. 

Herbert  writes  in  Ungratefulness  : 

...   til  death  blow 
The  dust  into  our  eyes, 
and  in  Frailtie : 

That  which  was  dust  before,  doth  quickly  rise 
And  prick  mine  eyes. 

Likewise,  the  first  stanza  of  Bedtime  echoes  the  first  stanza  of 
Herbert's  Vertue;  and 

think  when  the  bells  do  chime, 
'Tis  angels  music, 

from  The  Church  Porch,  is  echoed  in  Dull  Devotion  thus  : 
And  as  an  Angels  voice,  ye  Bell.3 
With  Crashaw,  Beaumont  has  even  more  in  common.     There 
is  Beaumont's4 

Rise  up  my  Love,  my  Fairest  One 

Make  no  delay  ; 
Now  Winters  utmost  Blast  hath  blown 
Himselfe  away. 

1  Page  34.  2  Page  2.  3  Page  37.  4  Page  19. 


xxxviii     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

The  clowdy  Curtaines  drawn  aside 

To  free  ye  Light, 
No  drop  is  left,  pure  Heav'n  to  hide 

From  Thy  full  Sight. 

The  cheerly  Earth  doth  as  She  may 

Reflect  Heavns  Face, 
With  flowry  Constellations  gay 

In  every  place. 

Our  Birds  sit  tuning  their  soft  throats 

The  Angels  Quire 
To  eccho  back  :  The  Turtles  Notes 

Wth  them  conspire. 

All  Sweets  invite  Us  to  lay  downe 

Our  dull  delay 
Rise  up  my  Love,  my  Fairest  One 

And  come  away. 

Compare  with   this   the  following  lines  from  Crashaw's   On  the 
Glorious  Assumption  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  : 

She's  call'd  again  ;  hark  !  how  th'  immortal  dove 
Sighs  to  his  silver  mate  :  rise  up,  my  love, 
Rise  up,  my  fair,  my  spotless  one  ! 
The  winter's  past,  the  rain  is  gone ; 
The  spring  is  come,  the  flowers  appear, 
No  sweets,  since  thou  are  wanting  here. 

From  this  same  poem  of  Crashaw,  we  have  : 
All  sweetest  showers 
Of  fairest  flowers 
We'll  strew  upon  it : 
Though  our  sweetness  cannot  make 
It  sweeter,  they  may  take 
Themselves  new  sweetnes  from  it. 

In  Jesus  inter  Ubera  Maria l  Beaumont  imitates  thus  : 

Come  strow 
Your  pious  showres 
Of  Easterne  Flowres 

True,  He  needs  no  Sweets,  say  They, 
But  Sweets  have  need  of  Him,  to  keep  them  sc. 

The  following  epigrammatic  verses   on   death  are  plainly  akin. 
From  Crashaw's  A  Song  : 

I  die  even  in  desire  of  death  ; 

1  Page  17. 


Introduction  xxxix 

from  Beaumont's  Death  : x 

In  strong  desire  of  one,  a  thousand  Deaths  they  dy'd. 

From  Crashaw's  The  Recommendation  : 

So  from  his  living,  and  life-giving  death? 

My  dying  life  may  draw  a  new  and  never  fleeting  breath  ; 

from  Beaumont's  Loves  Adventure  :  2 

And  now  by  Lovers  Life  shee  doth  live, 
Which  dying  He  to  her  did  give. 

Three  stanzas  of  Beaumont's  Death  are  directly  drawn  from 
Crashaw's  Office  of  the  Holy  Cross  and  Upon  the  Sepulchre  of  our 
Lord.  Crashaw  uses  the  following  phrase  in  To  the  Noblest  and 
Best  of  Ladies  the  Countess  of  Denbigh  : 

And  haste  to  drink  the  wholesome  dart ; 
That  healing  shaft. 

No  doubt  it  was  from  him  Beaumont  took  this,  in  Love : 3 

Soft  as  ye  Ray 
Of  this  Sweet  Day 
Are  all  His  healing  Shafts  where  e'r  they  slay. 

Another  conceit  appears  in  Crashaw's  On  our  Crucified  Lord> 
naked  and  bloody : 

Thee  with  thyself  they  have  too  richly  clad 
Opening  the  purple  wardrobe  of  thy  side. 

Beaumont  imitates  : 4 

Arrayed  in  scarlet  from  his  owne  rich  veines. 

Crashaw,  in  Quern  Videstis  Tastores,  writes  : 

It  was  thy  day,  sweet,  and  did  rise 
Not  from  the  East,  but  from  Thy  eyes. 

In  Beaumont's  Epiphanie  Oblation  5  this  appears  as  : 
And  our  East  be  thine  Eyes  Sweet  Dawne. 

One  of  Crashaw's  Divine  Epigrams  reads  as  follows  : 

Each  blest  drop  on  each  blest  limb 
Is  washed  itself,  in  washing  Him. 

1  Page  10.         2  Page  112.         3  Page  23.         4  Page  130.         5  Page  135. 


xl         Poems  of  Joseph   Beaumont 

In  The  Waters  of  H.  Baptisme1  we  find  : 

The  Waves  came  crowding  downe  apace, 
Each  one  ambitious  for  y*5  grace 
To  touch  that  skin  .   .   . 

Thus  were  They  washed,  (&  not  He 
Who  came  as  clean  as  Puritie). 

In  addition  to  such  parallels  as  these  there  are  some  verses 
influenced  more  subtly,  where  sound  and  an  occasional  word, 
rather  than  thought,  are  echoed.     When  Beaumont  wrote  : 

What  is  House  and  what  is  Home,2 

he  may  well  have  been  reading  Crashaw's 

Farewell  House  and  farewell  Home. 

In  the  same  manner  Beaumont's 

And  makes  them  Mighty  Love's  Burnt- Sacrifice  3 

is  influenced  by  Crashaw's 

His  own  love's  and  our  sin's  great  sacrifice. 

The  same  similarity  appears  in  Crashaw's 

.   .   .   bring  hither  all  ye  blest 
Arabia,  for  thy  royal  phoenix'  nest, 

and  Beaumont's 

.  .  .  Then  all  ye  faire 
Arabia,  &  can  sooner  reach  the  skie. 

It  is  impossible  here  to  pursue  the  investigation  to  the  end, 
for  the  parallels  in  Beaumont's  poems  to  phrases  of  Herbert, 
Crashaw,  and  others  are  legion. 

We  have  seen  Beaumont  in  his  relation  to  his  contemporaries  ; 
there  remains  for  us  to  consider,  what  is  the  value  of  his  poetry  in 
itself?  Beaumont  has  not  Herbert's  gift  of  touching  the  externals 
of  religion  so  appropriately  that,  as  Coleridge  once  said,  "the 
reader  cannot  conceive  how  he  could  have  expressed  them  other- 
wise without  loss  or  injury  to  his  meaning."  Nor  did  he,  like 
Herbert,  feel  the  structure  of  the  poem  as  a  whole — the  sense  of 
order  and  coherence.  Of  course  his  stanzas  have  a  certain 
sequence,  yet  many  times    his  poems    seem    to    have  no   pre- 

1  Page  38.  2  Page  60.  3  Page  11. 


Introduction  xli 

determined  beginning,  middle,  and  end.  In  some  poems  stanzas 
might  be  transposed  or  omitted  without  damage  to  the  train  of 
thought.  There  are,  of  course,  exceptions  to  this,  especially 
among  the  shorter  lyrics,1  but  as  a  rule  Beaumont's  poetic  medita- 
tions wander  wherever  fancy  or  phrase  may  lead ;  seldom  do 
they  attain  to  singleness  of  impression.  And  because  his  poems 
are  prone  to  deal,  not  with  a  single  mood  or  experience,  but 
many,  they  are  not,  like  Herbert's,  brief  and  poignant,  but  long 
and  rambling.  They  are  not,  as  Herbert's,  the  inner  commun- 
ings of  a  passionate,  often  rebellious  spirit,  with  a  divine  love. 
They  aim  to  describe  some  event,  to  explore  some  problem,  to 
draw  a  moral  from  some  passing  experience.  Beaumont  was  not 
a  Papist  but  he  was  a  High  Churchman,  and  one  who  lived  in  a 
spiritual  world  that  was  in  all  its  detail  Romish.  Ceremony, 
church  tradition,  and  ritual  meant  so  much  to  him  that  the 
travail  of  his  own  soul  seemed  fused  in  or  subordinate  to  the 
experiences  of  the  saints  and  martyrs. 

Yet  he  had  none  of  Crashaw's  power  to  make  their  agonies 
and  ecstasies  live.  Stripped  of  the  vivid  mysticism  of  Crashaw, 
and  the  white  heat  of  passion,  his  poems  on  the  saints  lack 
symbolism,  his  pictures  of  Christ's  life  on  earth  are  without  glow 
and  fervour.  Beaumont  is  too  persistently  the  theologian  and 
controversialist  to  see  beyond  the  outward  convention  to  the 
Beatific  Vision.  Where  he  is  at  his  best  is  in  poems  of  his  own 
daily  life,  of  human  beauty  or  love  that  came  near  to  him,  and 
which  he  interprets  simply  and  sincerely. 

It  is  here  that  now  and  then  we  come  upon  the  touch  of 
genuine  poetry.  It  may  be  in  the  wistful  expression  of  some 
human  failing,  some  need,  some  experience  that  comes  close  to 
every  life : 

I  think  a  thousand  thoughts  a  day, 
Yet  think  not  one :  each  doth  betray 
It  selfe,  &  halfe-made  flyes  away.2 

Now  it  is  a  quiet  gleam  of  imagination  : 

...  A  surer  thing  is  Death 
By  far  then  Sleep  :  That  nightly  drowsy  Mist, 
Which  climbs  into  thy  Braine  to  give  Thee  Rest, 
May  by  ye  way  obstruct  thy  feeble  Breath.3 

1   The  Net,  The  Check,  The  Sluggard,  Bedtime,  The  Servant,  Game,  etc. 
2  Suspirium.  3  Bedtime. 


xlii       Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

Or  this  : 

Zeale  hath  lost  its  Eyes, 
Yet  runs  as  fast 
As  when  ye  Northern  Blast 
Makes  its  most  headlong  hast 
And  knows  as  little  to  what  end  it  flies.1 

Again,  the  touch  of  beauty  may  be  evident  in  some  quaint  and 
charming  personal  feeling,  as  this,  from  Entertainment : 

Be  sure,  for  what's  but  by  the  by 

Thou  mak'st  not  most  adoe. 
In  thine  own  Sweetnes  I  the  banquet  place  : 
As  for  thy  Meat,  I  shall  not  count  it  sauce.2 

In  the  Pilgrim  he  naively  questions : 

for  what,  what  am 
I  but  a  Stranger  heer 
As  all  my  Fathers  were  ? 
Nor  would  I  stay  to  learn  &  frame 
My  Toung  or  Manners  to  this  Countries  guise 
Which  ne'r  will  suit  with  what's  in  fashion  in  the  Skies. 

Perhaps  it  is  apparent  in  a  scholar's  gentle  love  of  Nature  : 

The  Gardins  quit  with  me  :  as  yesterday 
I  walked  in  that,  today  that  walks  in  me ; 

Through  all  my  memorie 
It  sweetly  wanders,  &  has  found  a  way 
To  make  me  honestly  possess 
What  still  anothers  is. 

Or  again  we  feel  it  in  the  graciousness  and  simple  piety  of  a 
poem  like  A  Morning  Hymn,  or  Once  &  Ever,  or  these  stanzas 
from  Dull  Devotion  : 

When  unto  Man  I  with  requests  doe  goe, 

My  mind  doth  with  my  Tongue  bear  part, 
I  serve  Him  only  wth  lip -homage,  who 
Created  both  my  Tongue  and  Heart. 

Fain  would  I  pray  my  Prayers,  &  not  be 

Abroad,  when  heer  I  Thee  intreat. 
Tame  my  wild  Soule,  &  tie  it  close  to  Thee 

In  whom  my  Hope  &  Trust  is  set. 

So  shall  this  place  be  like  its  Name  to  Me, 

And  as  an  Angels  Voice,  ye  Bell. 
Heer  shall  I  practise  my  Felicitie 

And  so  in  Heavn  aforehand  dwell. 

1  Civil  Warr.  2  Entertainment* 


Introduction  xliii 

There  are  not  many  who  will  care  for  pleasure's  sake  to  read 
all  the  poems  of  Beaumont.  Yet  in  our  hurried  times,  these 
verses,  wrought  through  long  hours  of  leisure  by  a  workman  who 
loved  his  task,  hold  the  charm  of  a  beautiful  epoch  and  an 
irrecoverable  one.  Furthermore,  there  is  value  in  coming  to 
know  one  whom  even  a  small  meed  of  fame  has  kept  for  us  past 
the  years,  especially  if  he  be,  as  Beaumont  is,  a  faithful  reflection 
of  the  influences  and  environment  which  made  men  like  Herbert 
and  Vaughan  and  Traherne,  and  the  greatest,  Milton. 


Suspirium 


i 


LIFE  of  my  soule,  bright  Lord  of  Love, 
When  shall  I  from  my  selfe  remove 
To  Thee,  &  to  thy  Things  above  ! 

This  weary  world  can  nothing  show 
To  court  an  Heart,  &  make  it  grow 
In  love  with  any  thing  below  : 

So  speaks  a  generous  Soule.     But  I 
Faint  as  I  am,  &  weak  doe  lie 
Striving,  alas,  to  Think,  &  Crie. 

I  think  a  thousand  thoughts  a  day, 
Yet  think  not  one  :  each  doth  betray 
It  selfe,  &  halfe-made  flyes  away. 

I  think  of  Heav'n,  I  think  of  Hell, 
Of  what  both  heer  &  there  doth  dwell : 
Yet  what  I  think  I  cannot  tell. 

Through  all  ye  World  my  Mind  does  run, 
And  when  her  foolish  Course  is  done, 
She  onely  is  where  she  begun. 

Such  Hudling  and  Perplexity 

In  my  tumultuous  Heart  there  bee, 

That  seing  all,  I  nothing  see. 


Poems  of  Joseph   Beaumont 

Sometimes  my  venturous  Thoughts  aspire 
Upon  the  wings  of  brave  Desire, 
The  High  Creator  to  admire. 

But  straight  some  worldly  Dust  flyes  up, 
And  my  too-willing  eyes  doth  stop, 
Before  they  reach  that  Glorious  Top. 

Great  Prince  of  Peace,  give  Thou  some  rest 
To  these  Commotions  of  my  breast 
So  shall  my  Thoughts  and  I  be  blest. 

Me  thinks  I  feele  my  pregnant  eyes 
Oft  times  with  full-tide  sorrow  rise : 
But  straight  ye  living  fountaine  dies. 

So  the  vaine  miste  fills  all  ye  skie 
Wth  hopes  of  Rain,  yet  by  &  by 
It  leaves  it  far  more  hot  &  dry. 

Had  any  eyes  more  cause  to  weep, 
Some  plea  there  were  for  mine  to  keep 
Themselves  and  all  their  Tears  asleep. 

But  if  more  Mire  is  lodgd  in  Mee 
Then  in  ye  bottom  of  ye  Sea, 
Why  flow  not  I,  as  well  as  Shee  ? 

Sometimes  I  feele  ye  Storme  arise 
In  swelling  sighs  ;  yet  out  it  flies, 
And  drives  no  Clouds  into  mine  eyes. 

All  other  Blasts  can  coole  ye  skie, 

With  Copious  Humidity : 

Alas,  no  winds  but  mine  are  drie. 


Marble  that  cold  obdurate  stone 
Abounds  with  Teares,  whilst  I  have  none, 
Though  of  ye  same  Complexion. 


Suspirium 


•Clowds,  though  as  light  as  I,  &  vaine, 
When  gaping  Earth  doth  crave  for  raine, 
Some  welcome  drops  at  least  doe  strain. 

But  only  I  a  parched  Land, 

And  thirsty  as  ye  Lybian  Sand, 

Of  my  owne  Springs  have  no  Command. 

Broach  Thou  dear  Lord  my  Springs  for  me, 
That  all  their  streames  may  run  to  Thee, 
And  in  thy  Bottle  treasur'd  bee. 

For  Thee  I  thirst  more  then  for  Them, 
But  if  Thou  steer'st  me  through  this  stream 
"To  Thee  ye  easier  shall  I  swimm. 


Reasonable  Melancholy 

TELL  me  no  more  of  Sweets  &  Joyes ;  | 
Miscall  not  Things : 
Nor  flatter  poor  unworthy  Toyes 
As  they  were  Kings. 
Tis  not  a  pretty  Name 
That  can  transforme  ye  frame 
Of  Bitternesse,  and  cheat  a  sober  Tast : 
Tis  not  a  smile 
That  can  beguile 
Good  eyes,  &  on  false  Joyes  true  colours  cast. 

I  saw  some  jolly  Ladds  rejoice 
The  Town  was  theirs  j 
Secure  &  ringing  was  their  noise, 
No  thought  of  fears. 
At  first  ye  Healths  went  round 
And  then  their  Braines  ;  till  drownd 
In  what  they  had  devour'd,  they  sunk.     Sweet  Joy 
Said  I,  wch  thus 
Steales  Us  from  Us, 
And  leaves  us  nought  but  Beasts,  or  worse  then  they. 

Others  I  spyed  at  an  huge  Feast : 

The  wholl  Creation 
Was  serv'd  up  ready  dished  &  dress'd 
And  in  ye  fashion. 
They  fell  too  :  &  some  eat 
A  fever  wA  their  Meat ; 

4 


Reasonable  Melancholy 

Some  great,  &  some  small  surfeits.     And  are  those 

The  Sweets,  said  I, 

Of  Luxurie  ? 
Such  Dainties  might  a  Jew  afford  his  foes. 


Clad  with  ye  Night,  &  black  as  Shee 

Th'  Adulterer  goes, 
To  steale  those  Joyes,  wch  monstrous  Hee 
Doth  rather  choose, 
Then  all  Heav'ns  Sweets.     But  why 
Fears  He  ye  Mornings  ey  ? 
Brave  Happinesse,  at  which  ye  owner  is 
Asham'd,  &  tries 
How  to  disguise 
It  &  Himselfe  in  conscious  Covertnes ! 


All  grant  that  Nuptiall  pleasures  are 

Both  sweet  &  cleane : 
But  many  think  ye  sauce  is  far 
More  soure  and  keen  ; 
All  kind  of  cares  are  sed 
To  grow  i  th'  Nuptiall  Bed. 
Or  if  it  barren  prove,  that  drie  Disease 
Has  greater  Greife, 
And  lesse  Releife 
Then  all  ye  thorney  Breed  of  fertilenes. 


Gentiler  Spirits  in  Music  place 
A  soveraigne  Pleasure ; 
But  yet  ye  Cords  are  vext  to  grace 
The  nimble  Measure. 
The  sweetest  Harmonie 
With  Sharps  must  temper'd  be. 
Some  Tunes  are  heavnly ;  but  tis  when  they  meet 
A  Sacred  Thing 
Whereon  to  sing ; 
And  then  ye  Dittie  makes  ye  Musick  sweet. 


Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

The  world  has  store  of  Things,  which  Shee 

Does  Pastimes  call, 
Which  though  they  sweet  &  tempting  be 
Yet  have  their  Gall. 
Alas,  though  time  be  now 
Grown  old,  he's  not  so  slow 
That  we  should  lend  him  wings :  Doe  wl  we  can 
He  makes  no  stay  j 
Mistaken  Play 
Passeth  not  Time  away  but  silly  Man. 

When  in  ye  brisk  and  yeouthfull  Spring 

My  curious  eye 
Walked  over  every  flowry  Thing 
Sweets  to  descrie ; 
A  Rose  above  ye  rest 
Peep'd  up  &  pleas'd  me  best ; 
Wch  when  I  would  have  crop't,  I  felt  her  pricks* 
What  hopes  to  meet 
Wth  any  Sweet 
When  to  a  Rose  such  thorney  anger  sticks  ? 

But  on  her  leaves  a  Bee  there  sate, 

A  buisie  Bee ; 
Whose  business  was  to  find  out  what 
I  could  not  see. 
On  her  my  hand  I  laid ; 
But  gently,  as  affraid 
To  hurt  so  sweet  a  Thing  :  Yet  cholerick  Shee 
Unsheath'd  her  sting 
And  murmuring 
In  stead  of  honey,  poison  left  in  mee. 

With  that,  as  wroth  as  Shee,  or  more, 

Unto  her  Hive 
I  flung,  resolv'd  of  all  her  store 
Her  to  deprive. 
Sweet  was  ye  Honey,  and 
At  present  did  command 


Reasonable  Melancholy 

My  likeing,  but  soone  made  me  sick.     And  who 

Said  I,  dares  trust 

Sweets  if  we  must 
In  Honey  grant  such  bitternesse  to  flow  ? 

Defiance,  faire  impostur'd  Names 

Of  beauteous  Cheats, 
Welfavour'd  Lies,  &  handsome  frames 
Of  poisn'd  Sweets. 
Your  Bait  full  fine  doth  show, 
But  ye  false  Hook  below 
Is  bearded  with  vexation.     Who  desires 
Sweetly  to  be 
Destroyed,  He 
May  bume  in  your  deare  Aromatik  fires. 

It  must  be  so.     Could  rotten  Earth 

Spring  with  sound  Joyes, 
Faire  heav'n  &  all  its  Sacred  Mirth 
Would  seeme  but  Toyes. 
Immortall  Pleasures  may 
A  soules  brave  thirst  allay, 
And  those  alone ;  those  that  are  kindled  by 
The  flaming  grace 
Of  Jesu's  face, 
Which  gilds  the  beauteous  Sweets,  yl  smile  on  high. 

Come  hither  Greife,  one  draught  of  Thee 

Will  last  more  sweet 
Then  all  false  Joyes  Hypocrisie 
Which  heer  doth  greet 
Deluded  Soules  :  One  Tear 
Flows  with  more  Honey  far 
Then  all  Hyblean  Hives ;  one  pious  sigh 
Breaths  sweeter  aire 
Then  all  ye  faire 
Arabia,  &  can  sooner  reach  the  skie. 


Death 


LOOK  not  so  fierce ;  thy  hands  are  ty'd,  I  know, 
And  must  be,  till  my  Master  lets  them  goe. 
Come  let  us  pari  a  while,  &  see 
What  makes  ye  world  to  fly  from  Thee. 
Perhaps  ther's  some  mistake,  &  They 
Should  rather  run  to  be  thy  Prey. 
Frowne  not  in  vaine ;  I  long  to  feele  thy  sword  ; 
But  Thou  &  I  must  stay,  till  Heavn  does  give  ye  word. 

What  Furies  hand  rak'd  up  ye  monstrous  Deep 
Of  shame  and  horrour,  thence  to  fetch  an  heap 

Of  shapelesse  Shapes,  which  join'd  in  one, 

Make  up  thy  Constitution  ? 

Was  Night  thy  Mother,  or  was  Hell  ? 

Both  which  in  thy  black  Looks  doe  dwell. 
Or  sin  more  horrid  then  both  They  ?     Sure  none 
But  such  an  hideous  Shee  could  beare  so  foule  a  Sonne. 


No  sooner  borne  but  strait  Thou  learnd'st  thy  Trade, 
And  'twas  Destruction  :  All  ye  World  was  made 
Thine  easy  Prize  ;  nor  didst  Thou  spare 
To  take  thy  gluttonous  fill.     But  where 
Is  all  bestow'd  ?     Thy  craving  Look 
Keeps  sad  &  thinn,  as  Famins  Book. 
All  flesh  becomes  thy  food,  yet  naked  bee 
Thine  ougly  Bones :  Ther's  nought  but  hunger  grows  in  Thee. 

8 


Death  9 

Great  was  thine  Empire,  &  thy  Conquest  great : 
The  proudest  Kings  bow'd  at  thy  prouder  feet. 

With  bold  Corruption  Thou  did'st  tread 

On  Glories  stoutest,  fairest  Head. 

Thou  bad'st  thy  shamelesse  Wormes  goe  feed 

In  Princes  bosomes,  &  with  speed 
Gnaw  out  ye  marks  of  men,  that  none  might  know 
What  difference  Humane  Dust  from  common  Earth  could  show. 

Thus  did  thy  domineering  Dread  surprize 
The  trembling  Earth,  wch  scarcely  could  suffice 

To  find  Thee  roome,  wherin  to  lay 

The  numerous  Nations  Thou  didst  slay. 

This  made  Thee  bold  &  venturous  grow : 

Doe  you  not  remember  how 
One  day  you  clamberd  up  a  mighty  Crosse  ? 
Not  all  ye  Graves  you  cause,  can  bury  yl  Dayes  losse. 

Another  kind  of  Adam  on  that  Tree 

Thou  found'st,  whom  thy  black  Mother,  though  She  be 

Stronger  then  Thou,  &  subtler  too, 

Durst  never  hope  to  overthrow. 

Did  He  not  foile  Thee  in  ye  fight, 

And  of  thy  sting  disarme  Thee  quite  ? 
Indeed  Hee  seem'd  to  yeild ;  but  'twas  to  lay 
A  three-dayes  Ambushment,  ye  surer  Thee  to  slay. 

Submitted  not  his  seeming  conquer'd  hands, 
And  gently  wore  thy  captivating  Bands  ? 

Into  thy  Prison  went  Hee  not 

Whose  mighty  door  wth  Seales  was  shut  ? 

Then  deemed'st  Thou  thy  Selfe  secure, 

And  of  thy  hardy  Conquest  sure  : 
When  from  his  Ambush  thy  supposed  Slave 
Starts  up,  &  leaves  to  Thee  thine  owne  more  usefull  Grave  ? 

And  now  all  yl  was  Death  in  Thee  is  Dead ; 
This  was  thy  Sting,  &  this  lies  buried 

In  that  strong  Grave ;  and  there  must  lie 

Till  all  the  rest  of  Thee  doth  die. 


to       Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

Look  not  so  grim  &  fierce ;  we  know 

Y'  are  not  our  Lord,  but  Servant  now. 

Or  rather  y'  are  our  Freind ;  doe  what  you  can, 

You  must  be  courteous  now,  ev'n  in  destroying  man. 

All  you  can  doe  is  but  to  set  us  free 
From  what  is  worse  then  Death,  Lifes  Miserie. 
Have  not  brave  Troops  of  Martyrs  dar'd 
You  to  ye  fight  ?     &  when  you  fear'd 
They  long'd  &  woo'd,  &  prayd  to  bee 
Sharers  in  this  Captivitie. 
And  if  their  strange  Request  were  still  deny'd 
In  strong  desire  of  one,  a  thousand  Deaths  they  dy'd. 

Sweet  Death,  so  let  me  call  Thee  now,  thy  hand 
Alone  can  bring  our  shipwrack'd  Soules  to  land. 

Thou  with  this  stormy  life  compar'd 

More  calme,  more  sweet,  more  lovely  art. 

The  Graves  Thou  ope'st  are  but  ye  Gates 

Of  blest,  &  everlasting  Fates  ; 
Through  wch  our  Dying  life  doth  pass  to  be 
Borne  in  a  surer  Birth  of  Immortalitie. 


Loves  Mysterie 

(For  a  Base  &  2  Trebles.) 

THE  bright  inamour'd  Yeouth  above 
I  askd,  What  kind  of  thing  is  Love  ? 
I  askd  ye  Saints ;  They  could  not  tell, 
Though  in  their  bosomes  it  doth  dwell. 
I  asked  ye  lower  Angels  ;  They 
Liv'd  in  its  Flames,  but  could  not  say. 
I  asked  ye  Seraphs :  These  at  last  confes'd 
We  cannot  tell  how  God  should  be  expres'd. 

Can  you  not  tell,  whose  amorous  Eyes 

Flame  in  Love's  Sweetest  Ecstacies  ? 

Can  you  not  tell  whose  pure  thoughts  move 

On  Wings  all  feathered  with  Love} 

Can  you  not  tell  who  breathe  &  live 

No  life  but  what  Great  Love  doth  give  ? 

Grant  Love  a  God:  Sweet  Seraphs  who  should  know 

The  nature  of  this  Dietie,  but  you  ? 

And  who,  bold  Mortall,  more  then  Wee 
Should  know,  that  Love's  a.  Mysterie  ? 
Hid  under  his  owne  flaming  Wing 
Lies  Love  a  secret  open  thing. 
And  there  lie  Wee,  all  hid  in  Light, 
Which  gives  Us,  &  denies  Us  Sight. 
We  see  what  dazells  &  inflames  our  Eyes, 
And  makes  them  Mighty  Love's  Burnt-Sacrifice. 
11 


Civill  Warr 

UNTOWARD  passions,  peace  :  I'm  wearied  quite  : 
I  will  allow 
Only  my  Anger  now, 
To  lash  herselfe,  &  you  : 
Rise  Anger,  rise  and  arme ;  'tis  time  to  fight. 

Is  it  not  time,  now  faint  ignoble  feare 
By  Cowardize 

Numbers  her  Victories ; 

And  ever  as  She  flyes 
Leaves  conquer'd  Mee  Captive  to  helplesse  Care  ? 

Is  it  not  time,  now  Love,  that  Towring  Thing, 
Forgets  to  fly 

At  Objects  brave  &  high, 

And  heer  content  to  lie 
In  filthy  puddles  wets  his  Noble  Wing  ? 

Is  it  not  time,  now  fond  Greife  wasts  my  Teares 
(And  all  in  vaine) 
Not  on  my  soules  foule  staine, 
Which  both  their  Springs  might  draine 

But  on  some  idle  disappointed  Cares  ? 

Is  it  not  time,  when  Zeale  hath  lost  its  Eyes, 
Yet  runs  as  fast 
As  when  ye  Northern  Blast 
Makes  its  most  headlong  hast 

And  knows  as  little  to  what  end  it  flies  ? 


Civill  Warr  13 


Is  it  not  time,  when  Thou  thy  Selfe  art  spent, 
But  not  on  Mee 

Nor  on  thy  Selfe,  though  wee 

Are  onely  fit  to  bee 
The  marks  at  which  thine  Arrows  should  be  bent  ? 

'Tis  time  to  fight.     But  oh  !  I  am  betray'd  ! 
These  Rebells  are 
Allready  got  so  far 
Into  my  Heart,  no  care 

Of  mine  will  help :  Sweet  fesu  lend  me  aid. 


Tabula  Secunda  in  Naufragio 

POORE  Heart,  what  is  this  poorer  world  to  Thee  ? 
Thou  hast  a  God  :  Thy  Selfe  Thou  hast : 
Can  He  &  Thou 
Not  make  enough 
To  slight  bad  times  wch  cannot  last 
One  minute  longer  then  He  lets  them  be. 

No  wheel  of  Fate  but  rowles  in  his  Great  Hand 
And  from  His  Touch  its  motion  takes. 
No  Kingdome  jars 
With  ruefull  wars 
And  into  helplesse  peeces  breakes 
But  when  His  Justice  doth  Divide  ye  Land. 

If  then  it  Justice  &  His  Justice  be, 

Why  doe  thy  silly  feares  gainsay? 
His  constant  Will 
Is  Holy  still, 
And  must  be  done  :  what  fooles  are  They 
Who  would  not  have  ye  best  Necessitie  ? 

Fond  Passions,  peace :  O  may  that  Sacred  Pleasure 
Be  done,  though  your  Undoing  stand 
Full  in  its  way  : 
A  Soule  dares  say, 
I  am  no  looser  by  y*  hand ; 
Heavns  Will,  &  not  mine  owne,  is  my  best  Treasure. 

14 


Tabula  Secunda  in  Naufragio      15 

Heart,  keep  Thou  That,  though  thine  owne  Will  be  lost, 
Least  Thou  thy  selfe  becomest  so. 
Then  though  Hell  rage 
On  poor  Earths  stage, 
All  things  shall  at  thy  pleasure  goe. 
Unlesse  Omnipotencie  can  be  crost. 


Jesus  inter    libera  Maria 

Cantcl.  6. 
(To  a  Base  and  2  Trebles.) 


I 


N  ye  coolnesse  of  ye  day 

The  old  Worlds  Even,  God  all  undrest  went 
downe 

Without  His  Roab,  without  His  Crowne, 
Into  His  private  garden,  there  to  lay 
On  spicey  Bed 
His  Sweeter  Head. 


There  He  found  two  Beds  of  Spice, 
A  double  Mount  of  Lillies,  in  whose  Top 

Two  milkie  Fountaines  bubled  up. 
He  soon  resolv'd :  &  well  I  like,  He  cries, 
My  table  spread 
Upon  my  Bed. 


Scarcely  had  He  'gun  to  feed, 
When  troops  of  Cherubs  hover'd  round  about ; 
And  on  their  golden  Wings  they  brought 
All  Edens  flowers.     But  We  cry'd  out ;  No  need 
Of  flowers  heere ; 
Sweet  Spirits,  forbeare. 
16 


Jesus  inter  Ubera  Maria  17 

True,  He  needs  no  Sweets,  say  They, 
But  Sweets  have  need  of  Him,  to  keep  them  so. 

Now  Paradise  springs  new  with  you, 
Old  Edens  Beautie's  all  inclin'd  this  way ; 
And  We  are  come 
To  bring  them  home. 

Paradise  springs  new  with  you, 
Where  'twixt  those  Beds  of  Lillies  you  may  see 

Of  Life  ye  Everlasting  Tree. 
Sweet  is  your  reason,  then  said  Wee,  come  strow 
Your  pious  showres 
Of  Easterne  Flowres. 

Chorus 

Winds  awake,  &  with  soft  Gale 
Awake  ye  Odours  of  our  Garden  too ; 
By  wch  your  selv's  perfumed  goe 
Through  every  Quarter  of  your  World,  that  All 
Your  sound  may  heare, 
And  breathe  your  Aire. 


Davids  Elegie  upon  Jonathan 

2  Sam.  i.  Chap.  26  x. 

WHAT  Name  of  Comfort  can  returne 
My  Heart  to  mee  ! 
Deare  Freind  in  Thee 
My  life  is  dead,  my  Joy  doth  mourne. 

O  Jonathan,  my  Reverend  Mother, 

(Though  fertile  Shee,) 
Ne'r  blessed  Mee 

With  halfe  so  sweet  &  deare  a  Brother. 


Delicious,  Freind,  wert  Thou  to  Mee ; 
Engaddies  Bed 
Did  never  spread 

Perfumes  so  rich  &  sweet  as  Thee. 

Thy  love  to  Mee,  my  Jonathan, 

(Heart  spare  to  break 
Before  I  speak) 

Thy  love  knew  no  Comparison. 

Weak  Woman's  Love,  esteem'd  wth  thine, 
Though  stout  before, 
Grew  faint  &  poore ; 

Thy  Love,  as  Thou,  was  Masculine. 
18 


Cantic.  Chap.  2.  xx^  10- 11  -12-13. 

RISE  up,  my  Love,  my  Fairest  One 
Make  no  delay ; 
Now  Winters  utmost  Blast  hath  blown 
Himselfe  away. 

The  Clowdy  Curtaines  drawn  aside 
To  free  ye  light, 

No  drop  is  left,  pure  Heav'n  to  hide 
From  Thy  full  Sight. 

The  cheerly  Earth  doth  as  She  may 

Reflect  Heavns  Face, 

With  flowry  Constellations  gay 
In  every  place. 

Our  Birds  sit  tuning  their  soft  throats 
The  Angels  Quire 

To  eccho  back  :  The  Turtles  Notes 
With  them  conspire. 

The  teeming  Fig-tree's  new  borne  Brood 
Abroad  appeare : 

Vines  &  young  Grapes  breathe  out  a  good 
And  wholsome  Aire. 

All  Sweets  invite  Us  to  lay  downe 
Our  dull  delay 

Rise  up,  my  Love,  my  Fairest  One 
And  come  away. 

19 


Thou  shalt  call  His  Name  Jesus 

S.  Luc.  i.  31. 
(To  a  Base  and  2  Trebles.) 


I 


Xs 

S  it  an  Incense  Cloud  yl  breaks, 
Or  is  it  Balme  ye  Angell  speaks  ? 

Chorus 


Ne'r  did  Arabian  Beds  inrich  ye  Skie 

Wth  such  rich  breath,  nor  Easterne  feild 
So  pure  &  balmy  Odours  yeild ; 

Nor  Paradise  Perfumes  ascend  so  high. 

Xs 

From  his  fair  lips  does  Balsame  flow, 
Or  is  it  Manna  that  they  show  ? 

Chorus 

Such  soveraine  Balsame  n'er  drop'd  on  ye  Earth ; 

The  kindest  Heav'n  ne'r  showred  downe 

So  noble  Manna  on  its  owne 
Deare  flock,  when  Wonders  were  its  usuall  Birth. 


Xs 

What  is  it  then,  oh  who  can  tell  ? 
Speak  Thou  thy  selfe,  sweet  GabrielL 
20 


Thou  shalt  call  His  Name  Jesus    21 

Chorus 

Tis  Heav'n  I  speake,  from  whence  I  hither  came 

To  show  how  all  its  sweets  doe  lie 

Couched  in  one  rich  Epitomie 
Of  wch  Great  Treasure  Jesus  is  ye  Name. 


L 


ove 


SAY  what  is  Love 
That  little  Word  &  mighty  Thing ; 
Which  blinder  poets  as  they  sing, 
Conspire  to  prove 
Blind  as  ye  Night, 
And  yet  as  bright 
As  is  the  Mornings  Face 
Wth  all  her  roseall  Grace 
Or  Phoebu's  eyes 
When  first  they  rise 
And  powre  their  flaming  gold  through  all  ye  skies. 

They  give  him  Wings, 
Such  as  their  foolish  quills  can  make, 
But  stain  them  wth  their  inke  :  They  talk 
Of  warlike  things, 
Of  shafts  &  Bow 
But  say  not  now 
Their  childish  Dietie 
Should  use  them,  or  can  see 
To  shoot,  &  yet 
They  fondly  set 
Pure  Sprightfull  soules  his  Mark  to  practise  at. 

His  Mark  indeed 
Are  onely  Soules,  &  happy  they 
In  being  so :  His  weapons  may 

Cause  them  to  bleed  ; 

22 


Love  2  3 


But  first  his  Dart 

Pierc'd  his  owne  Heart 
And  broach'd  his  dearest  veine  J 

To  make  them  wholl  againe. 

His  wound  is  ope 

All  theirs  to  stop  ; 
Nor  does  He  ever  meane  to  close  it  up. 

Soules  are  His  Mark, 
And  well  He  sees  to  hit  them  too. 
Nor  is  His  never-failing  Bow 
Bent  in  ye  Dark. 
All  one  bright  Eye 

Is  Love,  &  by  4/ 

The  Day  yl  from  it  breaks 
His  noble  aime  He  takes. 
Soft  as  ye  Ray 
Of  this  Sweet  Day 
Are  all  His  healing  Shafts  where  e'r  they  slay. 

Who  calls  Fire  blind  ? 
What  slaunder  dares  accuse  ye  spark, 
And  blushes  not  to  call  it  dark  ? 
What  Eye  can  find 
Shades  in  ye  flame  ? 
Who  prints  ye  Name 
Of  Night  upon  ye  Beame,  S 

Wch  from  high-Noon  doth  streame  ? 
The  Spark,  ye  Beame, 
The  Fire,  ye  Flame, 
Of  glorious  Love  are  but  a  severall  Name. 

And  oh  how  far 
They  faile  of  what  they  faine  would  say  ! 
Love  is  a  nobler  kind  of  Ray ; 

No  trembling  star 

No  labouring  Fire  / 

Wch  doth  aspire  ^ 

Into  a  wavoring  Flame  ; 


24       Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

No  vaine  ambitious  Beame 
Which  swells  upon 
The  garish  Sunne 
Has  light  enough  to  make  Love's  shade  alone. 

Goe  but  wth  Mee 
To  yonder  Hill,  where  Valiant  Love 
The  utmost  of  His  power  did  prove ; 
And  you  shall  see 
His  strength,  &  how 
He  us'd  his  Bow. 
Tis  worth  your  sight ;  Great  Kings 
Have  wishd  to  see  those  things. 
And  wish  they  may, 
But  Love  will  stay 
His  owne  time,  He's  a  Greater  Prince  then  they. 

And  yet  He  came 
Hither  at  last.     Mark  that  crosse  Tree 
No  other  Bow  but  that  brought  Hee : 
And  on  ye  same 
Stretch'd  with  full  strength 
Himselfe  at  length 
And  shot  at  Death  &  Hell. 
But  since  those  Monsters  fell, 
He  aims  His  Darts 
At  none  but  Hearts 
He  heales  by  wounds,  by  killing  Life  imparts. 

In  His  faire  Eyes 
Millions  of  little  Loves  doe  play, 
As  Atoms  in  ye  highnoone  Ray. 
Who  can  comprise 
Those  radiant  Pleasures 
And  smiling  Treasures 
That  all  in  His  Sweet  Face 
Find  their  delicious  place  ! 

Which  when  Heaven  spy'd 
Though  vilify'd 
On  Earth,  her  owne  dull  Sun  She  strove  to  hide. 


Love  25 

Sweet  Warrior, 
Whose  soft  Artillery  does  invite 
All  enemies  unto  ye  fight ; 

Though  their  cheife  feare 
It  be,  least  they 
Should  win  ye  Day. 
What  gaines  a  soule,  when  Shee 
Yeilds  not  to  Life,  &  Thee  ? 
When  Shee  doth  choose 
Herselfe  to  loose 
Rather  then  Thou  shouldst  win  Her  from  her  woes ! 

How  dead  am  I 
Sweet  Master  of  Heavns  Archerie, 
Because  I  am  not  slaine  by  Thee ! 
Help  Mee  to  die, 
Lest  dangerous  Death 
Suck  up  my  breath 
Before  I  live  :  My  Heart 
Will  need  a  speciall  Dart : 
Yet  make  no  stay, 
Look  but  this  way, 
Thy  potent  Eyes  my  Soule  will  quickly  slay. 


Exod.  3. 

OBSERVE  that  Bush,  it  was  as  dry  as  Thee 
Or  Mee. 
A  Simple  Shrub  it  was,  &  every  Blast 

That  past 
Made  it  her  sport ;  No  Bird  yl  flew  yt  way 

Would  stay 
Upon  so  poor  a  perch ;  It  onely  was, 

Alas, 
Meet  food  for  flames  :  And  flames  made  their  repast 

At  last 
Upon  its  boughs ;  but  yet  no  flames  of  prey 

Were  they, 
No  ravenous  fire,  but  innocent  &  bright 

As  Light, 
When  in  a  Crrystall  Mirrour  her  Sweet  Ray 

Doth  play. 
Such  are  ye  Flames  of  Heavnly  Love,  whose  heat 

Though  great, 
Yet  in  a  Mortall  Bosome  they  can  dwell 

As  well 
As  in  ye  Seraphs  Breasts,  &  harme  it  not. 

In  that 
And  these  poor  Shrubs  of  Ours  'tis  but  ye  same 

Sweet  Flame. 
Who  but  ye  Great  Creatour  flamed  there  ? 

And  heere 
Who  burnes  but  Hee  ?  who  but  ye  God  above 

Is  Love} 
26 


Ad  S.  Angelum   Custodem 

WHO  e'r  Thou  art,  oh  f  I  knew  thy  Name, 
My  winged  Guardian,  as  Thou  knowest  mine  ; 
Faire  in  my  verses  would  I  write  ye  same, 
And  what  my  Name  doth  want,  supply  by  thine. 

Who  e'r  Thou  art,  for  certaine  simple  I 
Unworthy  am  to  be  thy  Ward  &  Care  : 
Why  should  Immortall  Spirits  hither  fly 
And  spend  their  time  on  Dust  &  Ashes  heer  ? 

Is  it  not  faire  ye  Stars  dart  Us  their  Light, 
To  look  about  Us,  &  ourselves  defend; 
But  higher  Flames,  &  far  more  rich  &  bright 
Leaving  their  Orbs,  Themselves  to  Us  must  lend  ? 

Does  Heavn  come  downe  aforehand  to  be  sure 
To  catch  Us  up  at  length,  &  send  us  hither 
Some  of  its  Natives,  whose  care  may  inure 
Us  to  its  fashions  e'r  We  climb  up  thither  ? 

Or  come  these  sweet  protectors  Us  to  cover 
As  We  doe  journey  in  this  dangerous  Way ; 
Whose  courteous  Wings  over  our  Heads  doe  hover 
Lest  this  lifes  Tempests  blow  our  Dust  away  ? 

Sure  for  these  Reasons,  &  for  more  then  these, 
Which  LOVE  well  wots  of :  He  y1  marks  their  Eyes, 
Their  Face,  their  Wings,  their  yeouthfull  vigour ;  sees 
That  LOVE  their  Master  is,  who  them  imployes. 

27 


28        Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

O  my  Deare  Freind,  Dearest  but  Him  whose  love 
Befreinded  Me  with  Thee,  what  shall  I  say ! 
Wch  way  so  e'r  my  labouring  thoughts  doe  move, 
Profound  amazement  standeth  in  their  way. 


What  shall  I  say !     Hadst  Thou  no  work  at  home, 
Where  Nothing  dwells,  but  pure  as  thine  owne  eyes ; 
That  Thou  shouldst  leave  them,  &  thy  Selfe,  to  come 
And  wait  on  Me,  &  my  Deformities? 

Is  not  all  Heavn,  &  what  makes  Heavn  to  be 
The  Name  of  sweetnesse,  is  not  JESU'S  Face 
More  worth  ye  looking  on  ?     Deserves  not  He 
The  Service,  which  on  me  Thou  dost  displace  ? 

Or  is  ye  Quire  above  so  meane  a  Thing, 

And  Hallelujah  grown  so  dull  a  Song, 

That  in  mine  eare  Thou  choosest  now  to  sing 

And  to  my  Heart-strings  tune  thy  charming  toung  ? 

Oh  how  dost  Thou  Sweet  Spirit,  indure  in  Mee 
What  I  doe  blush  at  ?     And  this  is,  alas, 
My  Selfe,  ev'n  all  my  Selfe :  nought  can  I  see 
But  one  confused  &  polluted  Masse. 

Canst  Thou  attend  on  Him,  whose  hatefull  Will 
Kicks  his  and  thy  Creators  Laws  ?     Canst  Thou 
Him  with  Thy  Silver  Feathers  shelter  still 
Whose  Life  prefers  those  in  a  Bed  below  ? 

Were  it  thy  charge  at  Edens  Gate  to  stand, 
And  with  a  two-edged  Flame  stop  Me  from  thence ; 
Well  would  that  Sword  become  thy  Heavnly  hand ; 
So  faire  a  place  deserves  thy  sweet  Defence. 

But  armed  wth  stouter  Flames  of  patient  Love 
Thou  strivst  at  that  sweet  Gate  to  thrust  me  in ; 
That  I  a  Bird  of  Paradise  might  prove, 
No  more  a  Swarthy  Rav'n,  tannd  black  with  sin. 


Ad  S.  Angelum  Custodem        29 

Ne'r  did  ripe  Dangers  my  poore  Breath  assaile, 
But  Thou  wert  ready  still  to  play  my  part : 
Allways  for  Me  did  Thy  Sweet  Wings  prevaile 
And  fannd  fresh  Comfort  on  my  panting  Heart. 


Thou  wouldst  not  have  me  snatcht  by  Sudden  Death, 
But  be  allow'd  full  time  to  mortifie, 
That  I  might  stop,  e'r  Shee  did  mine,  Sins  Breath, 
Till  I  can  live  Thou  wouldst  not  have  Me  dye. 

When  I  doe  sleep,  whither  by  Day  or  Night 
(For  I'm  but  halfe-awake  when  I  am  up  :) 
And  thousand  unseen  Spirits  against  Me  fight, 
Thy  stout  Protection  all  their  force  doth  stop. 

Forbeare,  saist  Thou,  foule  Cowards,  to  oppose 
A  little  Thing  of  Dust ;  or  know  that  I 
Am  set  to  keep  these  Mud  walls  from  their  foes ; 
Have  you  forgot  ye  feild  We  fought  on  high  ? 

Then  breathst  Thou  vigour  through  my  trembling  Breast, 
And  clap'st  thy  wings  upon  my  fearfull  back ; 
That  so  incourag'd  I  might  doe  my  best 
Where  nothing,  but  mine  owne  Will  I  can  lack. 

The  more  ye  Shame :  How  oft  have  I  betrayd 
My  Selfe  &  Thee !  &  flung  away  ye  sheild 
None  could  have  wrested  from  Mee,  till  I  laid 
It  downe  my  Selfe,  &  was  content  to  yeild. 

Couldst  Thou  be  angry,  Surely  Thou  wouldst  be 
My  greatest  foe,  as  being  offended  most, 
Excepting  Him,  who  Guards  both  Thee  &  Mee, 
Him  onely  have  my  Crimes  more  fowly  crost. 

For  His  dear  sake  be  Thou  like  Him,  &  spare 
Those  Provocations,  wch  I  offer  Thee : 
Or  draw  thy  Wrath,  &  strike  a  wholsome  feare 
On  all  these  Sins  wch  vex  both  Thee  &  Mee. 


30       Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

So  may  thy  awfull  Presence  teach  my  Heart 
Heer  to  acquaint  wth  thy  pure  Company ; 
And  in  our  Makers  Prayses  bear  her  part, 
If  He  so  pleases  in  your  Quire  on  high. 

So  when  ye  Trump  sounds  in  my  hollow  Grave, 
To  wake  this  Dust  to  an  Immortall  Day, 
Thy  hands  Sweet  Help,  &  conduct  may  I  have 
To  lift  me  up,  &  lead  me  in  ye  way. 


The   Gnat 


ONE  Night  all  tyred  wth  ye  weary  Day, 
And  wth  my  tedious  selfe,  I  went  to  lay 
My  fruitlesse  Cares 
And  needlesse  feares 
Asleep. 
The  Curtaines  of  ye  Bed,  &  of  mine  Eyes 
Being  drawne,  I  hop'd  no  trouble  would  surprise 

That  Rest  wch  now 
Gan  on  my  Brow 
To  creep. 

When  loe  a  little  flie,  lesse  then  its  Name 
(It  was  a  Gnat)  with  angry  Murmur  came. 

About  Shee  flew, 
And  lowder  grew 
Whilst  I 
Faine  would  have  scorn'd  ye  silly  Thing,  &  slept 
Out  all  its  Noise ;  I  resolute  silence  kept, 

And  laboured  so 
To  overthrow 
The  Flie. 


But  still  wth  sharp  Alarms  vexatious  Shee 
Or  challenged,  or  rather  mocked  Mee. 

Angry  at  last 
About  I  cast 
My  Hand. 

3i 


32        Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

'Twas  well  Night  would  not  let  me  blush,  nor  see 
With  whom  I  fought  j  And  yet  though  feeble  Shee 

Nor  Her  nor  my 
Owne  Wrath  could  I 
Command. 


Away  She  flies,  &  Her  owne  Triumph  sings ; 

I  being  left  to  fight  with  idler  Things, 

A  feebler  pair 
My  Selfe  and  Aire. 
How  true 

A  worme  is  Man,  whom  flies  their  sport  can  make ! 

Poor  worme ;  true  Rest  in  no  Bed  can  he  take, 

But  one  of  Earth, 
Whence  He  came  forth 
And  grew. 

For  there  None  but  his  silent  Sisters  be, 
Wormes  of  as  true  &  genuine  Earth  as  He, 

Which  from  ye  same 
Corruption  came : 
And  there 
Though  on  his  Eyes  they  feed,  though  on  his  Heart 
They  neither  vex  nor  wake  Him ;  every  part 

Rests  in  sound  sleep, 
And  out  doth  keep 
All  feare. 


The  Sluggard 


THE  World  awoke,  &  op'd  his  flaming  Eye, 
Which  darted  through  ye  skie 
The  broad  daylight ; 
And  at  ye  sight 
The  virgin  Morne,  though  Shee 
Were  up  &  drest  before, 
Yet  blushed  all  o're 
In  Heavnly  Modestie, 
As  if  s'had  slept  too  long,  &  were 
Asham'd  ye  Sun  should  look  on  her 
Being  but  newly  risen,  and  arrayd 
In  a  gray  Mantel  like  some  homely  Maid. 

Yet  all  this  while  in  spight  of  this  Sweet  Light, 
Mine  Eyes  huggd  Sleep  &  Night. 
I  snorting  lay, 
As  if  ye  Day 
Some  foure  houres  off  had  been  : 
I  who  had  much  to  doe, 

Further  to  goe, 
And*  more  to  loose  or  winne, 
Then  had  ye  Morning,  yet  let  Her 
Be  up  &  gone,  e'r  I  did  stirr. 
Perhaps  She  blush'd  to  see  how  drowsy  I 
Slep'd  out  all  Shame,  whilst  Shee  had  flown  so  high. 

At  length  ye  Sunne  growne  high  enough  to  look 
In  at  ye  window  took 
His  view  &  spy'd 
Out  my  Bedside. 

33  D 


34       Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

The  Curtaines  were  of  my 
Lazie  Conspiracie. 

But  Carefull  He 
Sent  a  quick  Ray  to  pry 
Into  ye  Tent  of  Sloth,  &  mark 
Why  in  ye  Morne  it  should  be  dark. 
This  found  me  out,  &  glaring  on  mine  eyes 
Stood  wondring  at  Me,  why  I  did  not  rise. 

The  sleepy  Mists  thus  chased  from  my  Brow, 
I  woke,  I  knew  not  how : 
I  cannot  say 
Whither  like  ye  Day 
I  blushed  in  my  Rise 
Or  no  ;  though  surely  I 

Had  more  cause  why  ; 
For  as  I  rubbd  mine  Eyes 
A  sudden  Consort  filld  mine  eare ; 
Plaine  were  ye  Notes,  but  sweet  &  clear, 
The  honest  Birds  up  long,  long  before  Mee 
Were  at  their  Mattens  on  a  Neighbour  Tree. 

And  does  ye  Day  rise  more  for  Birds  then  Mee 

That  they  should  earlyer  bee 

At  work  then  I, 

Who  have  to  flie 

Higher  then  they,  &  bring 

A  Morning-Sacrifice 

Of  Greater  price 
Unto  my  God  &  King ! 
Up  tardy  Heart  for  Shame ;  but  downe 
Lower  againe  upon  thine  owne 
Imploring  Knees ;  that  is  ye  surest  way 
To  Rise  indeed,  fairer  then  did  this  Day. 


Bedt 


ime 


AND  now  ye  Day  wch  in  ye  Morne  was  thine, 
Poor  Heart,  is  gone,  &  can  returne  no  more 
Bury'd  in  this  dark  Ev'n  it  goes  before, 
And  tells  Me  yl  ye  next  Night  may  be  mine. 

Nay  why  not  this  ?     A  surer  thing  is  Death 
By  far  then  Sleep :  That  nightly  drowsy  Mist, 
Which  climbs  into  thy  Braine  to  give  Thee  Rest, 
May  by  ye  way  obstruct  thy  feeble  Breath. 

The  Day  is  gone ;  &  well,  if  onely  gone, 
Is  it  not  lost  ?     Cast  up  thy  score,  &  know. 
Ar't  so  much  neerer  Heavn,  as  Thou  art  to 
Thy  Death ;  or  did  thy  Life  without  Thee  run  ? 

Alas  it  ran,  &  for  me  would  not  stay, 
Who  waited  on  my  fruitlesse  Vanities. 
I  might  have  travl  d  far  since  I  did  rise, 
In  praying  &  in  studying  hard  to-day. 

<Great  Lord  of  Life  &  Time,  reprieve  Me  still, 
Whom  My  owne  Sentence  hath  condemn'd ;  That  I 
May  learne  to  live  my  Life  before  I  die, 
And  teach  my  owne,  to  follow  Thy  Sweet  Will. 


35 


Dull  Devotion 


ME  thought  Heavn  calld  Me,  when  I  heard  ye  Bell ; 
And  I  was  ready  to  obey : 
The  plain  and  surest  path  I  knew  full  well, 
It  was  our  Common  Chappell  way. 

God  has  his  probatorie  Heavn  below, 

An  easy  &  familiar  Sphear : 
An  Heavn,  whose  Gate  is  broad,  yl  All  might  flow 

In,  &  for  that  above  prepare. 

Arrived  there,  although  ye  outward  face 

Of  what  appear'd  was  plain  &  milde, 
Dreadfull  I  found  ye  Mildenesse  of  ye  place 

Being  wth  God  &  Angels  filld. 

Falln  on  my  knees,  I  had  no  lesse  then  leave 

To  supplicate  My  God  &  King. 
Alas,  a  thousand  wants  my  Soule  did  greive, 

I  had  to  ask  Him  many  a  Thing. 

Up  went  my  hands  &  Eyes :  so  should  my  Heart, 

And  so  a  little  while  it  did : 
But  as  my  craving  Tongue  performed  her  part, 

I  knew  not  how,  my  Mind  was  fled. 

I  was  Departed,  &  interred  lay 

Wth  in  my  selfe  as  in  a  Grave  : 
This  rotten  heap  of  my  owne  Dust  &  Clay 

To  Me  a  Tomb,  &  Carkase  gave. 
36 


Dull  Devotion  37 

Or  like  at  least  some  Image  of  ye  Dead 
Set  there  to  make  his  Memorie  live. 

Starke-cold  was  My  Devotion,  &  tis  said 
A  Church  this  onely  Life  can  give. 

And  is  not  this  a  strange  Idolatry 

To  worship  God  wth  Images, 
And  Puppit-Service ;  as  if  Mighty  Hee 

Were  some  such  heedlesse  Thing  as  These  ? 

Shall  Men  mock  God,  &  think  to  move  his  Love, 

And  not  his  furie,  when  we  pray  ? 
What  hopes  those  Words  should  e'r  be  heard  above, 

Which  our  selves  hear  not  as  we  say  ? 

When  unto  Man  I  with  requests  doe  goe, 

My  mind  doth  wth  my  Tongue  beare  part. 

I  serve  him  onely  wth  lip-homage,  who 
Created  both  my  Tongue  &  Heart. 

Forgive  Me,  Lord ;  my  Prayers  w0*1  are  not  mine, 
That  Froth  wch  on  my  lips  doth  bubble ; 

That  Aire  wch  I  misuse,  that  Name  of  Thine, 
Wch  I  so  oft  in  vain  redouble. 

Faine  would  I  pray  my  Prayers,  &  not  be 

Abroad,  when  heer  I  Thee  intreat. 
Tame  my  wild  Soule,  &  tie  it  close  to  Thee 

In  whom  my  Hope  &  Trust  is  set. 

So  shall  this  place  be  like  its  Name  to  Me, 

And  as  an  Angels  Voice,  ye  Bell. 
Heer  shall  I  practise  My  Felicitie, 

And  so  in  Heavn  aforehand  dwell. 


The  Waters  of  H.   Baptisme 


THE  Worlds  Great  Lord  as  once  He  stood 
Upon  ye  brim  of  Jordans  flood 
Observ'd  a  greater  stream  of  Men 
Come  flowing  in. 

Their  businesse  was,  Baptiz'd  to  be, 
And  purify'd  :  But  then  said  Hee, 
It  much  concernes  you  to  be  sure 
Jordan  be  pure. 

With  that  Himselfe  step'd  in  like  One, 
Who  seemed  but  to  trye  alone, 
Whither  ye  Streames  they  sought  so  to 
Were  clean,  or  no. 

No  sooner  did  old  Jordan  kisse 
Those  sweet  &  beauteous  feet  of  His, 
But  smiling  Circles  on  his  face 

Took  up  their  place. 

And  this  he  thought  sufficient  Pay 
For  all  His  Paines,  when  He  made  way, 
And,  whilst  ye  Ark  took  up  his  road, 
Travelld  abroad. 

The  Waves  came  crowding  downe  apace, 
Each  one  ambitious  for  ye  grace 
To  touch  that  skin,  a  Purer  Thing 

Then  their  owne  Spring. 
38 


The  Waters  of  H.   Baptisme      39 

Thus  were  They  washed,  (&  not  He 
Who  came  as  clean  as  Puritie) 
And  washt  in  these  be  every  Stream 
Of  kin  to  them. 


Their  pure  &  most  delicious  shore, 
Where  Doves  of  our  poor  Clime  before 
Their  pleasure  took,  could  now  invite 
Heavn  to  delight. 

The  everlasting  Turtle,  though 
Pure  intellectuall  Stream es  doe  flow 
Upon  ye  Firmaments  vast  Plain, 
Could  not  abstain, 

But  downe  He  came,  &  by  ye  side 
Of  this  sweet  Current  He  espyde 
A  worthy  Perch,  as  faire  a  Thing 
As  His  white  Wing. 

Heer  He  his  first  acquaintance  took ; 
Then  flew  to  ever  Spring  &  Brook, 
Fixing  on  all  Baptismall  Streames 
His  best  esteem. 

Thus  by  this  Spirits  Company 
These  Streames  are  taught  to  purifie 
Spirituall  Things,  &  cleanse  a  Soule 
Though  ne'r  so  foule. 

Nor  new  Stains,  nor  yl  ancient  spot 
Which  all  ye  World  of  Men  doth  blot 
Doe  stick  so  deep  &  close,  but  they 
Wash  them  away. 

And  wash  out  also  that  great  Score 
The  Deluge  ought  ye  World  before 
Those  Waters  drown'd  all  Sinfull  Men, 
These  onely  Sin. 


Virginitie 


JEWELL  of  Jewells,  richer  far 
Then  all  those  pretious  Beauties  are, 
Which  to  our  West 
Stream  from  ye  East : 
The  Way 
Of  Day, 
The  Morne  though  deck'd  wth  Heavnly  Modestie 
Blusheth  not  halfe  so  gracefully  as  Shee. 


For  She  it  was  who  did  let  in 
A  Brighter,  &  a  Nobler  Sun, 

Then  e'r  did  rise 
To  Mortall  eyes : 
A  Sun 
Whom  none 
Of  all  ye  Heavns  could  hold  j  Gods  Son  was  Hee 
And  thine,  Immaculate  Virginitie. 


Would  any  curious  Critick  know 
A  thing  more  white,  &  chast  then  snow  ? 
First  wash  his  Eye, 
Then  let  Him  prie, 
For  Shee 
Will  be 
Clowded  wth  in  her  veile :  Though  much  more  bright 
Then  Day,  She  meekly  shrowds  her  selfe  in  Night. 

40 


Virginitie  4 1 


Lillies  are  cleanly,  white  &  sweet, 
And  yet  they  have  but  dirty  feet ; 

Their  Roots  from  Earth 
Never  look  forth, 
But  grow 
Below. 
Onely  this  spotlesse  Flowre,  wch  plants  her  Root 
Deep  in  ye  Heavns,  did  never  fowle  her  foot. 

For  there  She  grew  &  flourished 
Before  old  Time  began  to  bud : 

Yea  &  brought  forth 
A  Stem  more  worth 
Then  all 
The  Ball 
Of  Heavn  &  Earth  :  The  VIRGIN  SIRE  alone 
Eternally  begat  his  VIRGIN  SONNE. 

The  yeouthfull  beauteous  Spirits  above 
With  this  fair  Flowre  fell  All  in  love. 
No  marrying  there 
As  Wee  have  here  ; 
But  They 
All  say, 
Let  dirty  wormes  below  goe  wed ;  whilst  Wee 
Copieour  VIRGIN  MASTERS  Puritie. 

Yet  by  your  leave  Sweet  Spirits,  now 
These  wormes  have  crept  far  after  You. 
Great  Gabriell 
Remembers  well 
What  He 
Did  see 
At  Nazareth,  a  Virgin  Spotlesse  Thing, 
Purer  then  was  His  Archangelick  Wing. 

Wherfore  when  He  had  thither  flew 
Behind  his  back  his  Wings  he  drew, 
And  strait  way  all 
His  Plumes  let  fall  j 


42        Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

He  spyde 

The  Bride 
Of  Heavns  Great  Dove :  (How  pure  &  chast  was  Shee, 
Which  was  the  Virgin  Spouse  of  Chastitie  ?) 

With  Reverend  Voice  &  bended  knee 
Haile,  full  of  Grace,  to  Her  said  Hee, 
This  complement 
From  Heavn  was  sent : 
No  Name 
Became 
This  Soule  but  That ;  whose  awfull  Presence  made 
Gabriel  of  Her,  as  She  of  Him  afraid. 

Hee  never  saw  his  Brethrns  face 
Blush  wth  a  more  celestiall  grace  : 
And  had  He  spyde 
About  Her  side 

Such  Things 
As  Wings, 
He  would  have  been  familiar,  &  have  said 
Good  morrow  Brother,  to  this  Sacred  Maid. 

All  hail  Great  Queen  of  Chastity 
That  Name  is  due  from  Us  to  Thee, 
Whose  Pattern  all 
Our  World  doth  call 
To  come  ; 
And  some 
Faire  Voluntiers  have  ventur'd  on  to  fight 
Under  Thy  Colours,  which  are  Lilly-white. 

They  have  resolv'd  to  fight  wth  Thee 
The  Battells  of  VIRGINITIE ; 
And  to  resigne 
Their  Corps  like  Thine 
Sinceer 
And  clear 
Unto  their  Maker,  from  whose  Hand  We  see 
All  Creatures  come  in  VIRGIN  PURITIE. 


Affliction 


WOULD  you  make  your  Sweets  more  Sweet  ? 
Then  you  must  both  presse  &  beat, 
Till  that  distresse 
Make  them  confesse 
Their  uttmost  Secrets  in  a  deep-drawne  breath ; 
Which  drives  a  Clowd  of  Odours  from  beneath. 

Would  you  make  your  idle  Vine 
Buisie  grow,  &  big  with  Wine  ? 
Kind  Crueltie 
The  Salve  must  be. 
Call  for  your  hook,  &  lop  ye  wanton  boughs 
By  which  Shee  grows  indeed,  but  fruitlesse  grows. 

Has  ye  long  neglected  Dust 
Sheath'd  thy  glittering  Sword  in  Rust  ? 
You  must  not  spare 
Your  sharpest  care  : 
Rubbing,  &  scouring,  &  such  churlish  wayes 
Must  faded  Metalls  to  their  splendor  raise. 

Yf  you  say,  Whats  that  to  Mee  ? 
I'm  no  Odours,  Sword,  nor  Tree  : 

Then  tell  me  plain, 
Do'st  appertain 
To  Thee  to  be  in  thy  Great  Masters  sight 
(Though  on  those  harsh  termes)  Fertile,  Sweet,  &  Bright  ? 

43 


44       Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

If  so,  in  these  Copies  read 
What  salve  best  will  suit  thy  need. 
What  e'r  it  be 
Heer's  none  we  see 
But  hard  &  sharp.     Wholsome  Affliction 
Heavn  does  prescribe  for  Us,  &  that  alone. 


The   True  Love-Knott 

I  am  my  Beloveds,  &  my  Beloved  is  mine.     Cant.  6,  3, 
Turne  away  thine  eyes,  etc.,  v.  5. 


B 


UT  why 

On  thy  Beloved  feeds  thine  Eye  ? 
Can  it  not  feed  on  Sweets  at  home, 
But  must  to  Her  for  dainties  come  ? 


Mine  Eye 
Carry'd  in  Sweet  Captivitie 
Is  not  mine  owne  :  Her  conquering  Face 
Seiz'd  on  it  as  She  by  did  passe. 

Yet  Shee 
Complaines  as  much  of  Love  &  Thee, 
And  sayes  She  finds  Her  captiv'd  Eyes 
Made  thy  perpetuall  Sacrifice  : 

O  LOVE 

Mysterious  Champion,  wch  will  prove 
Victor  on  both  ye  sides,  &  knows 
How  to  reap  Palmes  from  Overthrows ! 

These  two, 
Which  in  an  endlesse  Combate  throw 
Their  fiery  Darts  from  eithers  Eyes, 
At  once  both  win  &  loose  ye  prize. 
45 


46       Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

Both  yeild, 
And  boast  that  they  have  lost  ye  feild ; 
For  by  that  losse  they  doe  obteine 
Themselves,  &  that  double  againe. 

Thus  Shee 
Layes  lawfull  claime  to  Him,  &  Hee 
To  Her ;  thus  neither  is  their  owne, 
And  yet  each  others  Master  growne. 

Thus  Hee 
And  Shee  are  clearly  lost,  to  bee 
Found  in  each  other  where  they  meet 
Themselves,  &  what  they  count  more  sweet. 

And  thus 
Two  Rayes  of  Light  all-beauteous 
When  e'r  they  meet  &  court,  doe  run 
Into  one  Sweet  Confusion. 

No  right 
Has  this  or  that  into  the  light 
It  brought,  but  each  has  title  to 
All  that  his  Brother  Ray  can  show. 

Then  this 
The  Spouses  Song  &  Triumph  is  : 
Not  Thou,  but  I  and  Thou,  are  Thine, 
Not  I,  but  Thou  and  I  are  Mine. 


Fasting 


WHAT  though  Her  face  be  pale  ?     This  onely  showes 
How  She's  of  kin  to  lA\\z-Chastitie  : 
And  still  that  venerable  palenesse  flows 
With  Sprightfull  vigor  from  her  sober  Eye. 

She  cares  for  no  more  Blood  then  will  suffice 
To  clothe  her  Modestie  in  blushing  guise. 

What  though  Her  looks  leannesse  &  faintnesse  speak  ? 

Tis  policy  to  keep  Her  strength  within. 

Let  ye  plump  Gallants  mighty  Outworks  make, 

And  fortifie  their  double  lined  Skin. 

She  better  bears  ye  Seige,  what  ever  foes 
Whither  from  Earth  or  Hell  themselves  oppose. 

Lesse  are  Her  Walls,  &  therfore  lesser  need 

Of  Amunition  to  maintaine  ye  fight  : 

But  greater  far,  and  subtler  is  Her  heed, 

Who  stands  upon  Her  Watch  both  day  &  night 

Whilst  those  fat  Bulwarks  first  exposed  lye 
To  ease  &  sleep,  then  to  their  Enemy. 

Shee  is  no  bigger  then  Her  Selfe ;  She  knows 

What  ballast  fits  Her,  &  layes  in  no  more 

Then  keeps  Her  sure  &  steady  as  Shee  Goes  : 

Her  other  Stowage  Shee  reserves  for  store 

Of  Virtues  fraught,  wch  though  ye  glorious  East 
It  selfe  were  hither  ship'd,  would  prove  ye  best. 

47 


48        Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

I'm  not  at  leisure  yet,  bold  Belly,  stay 
Sayes  She,  I  must  goe  feed  my  hungry  Heart : 
This  most  needs  meat,  for  this,  if  well  fed,  may 
For  ever  live,  whilst  Thou  but  Mortall  art. 
Yet  when  ye  Sunne  is  set,  &  I  can  see 
My  Heavn  no  more,  He  take  some  care  of  Thee. 

Thus  Shee  Her  dangerous  Body  doth  secure, 
Keeping  it  tame  &  humble  ;  thus  Her  mind 
Like  to  its  native  Heavn,  is  allway  pure 
From  Clowds  &  Tempests,  wch  ye  boistrous  Wind 

Of  puft  up  Flesh  doth  raise :  No  rampant  passion 
Ruffles  Her  thoughts,  &  puts  them  out  of  fashion. 

Shee  allwayes  is  Her  Selfe,  active  &  free, 
Absolute  Mistress  of  Her  owne  calme  Breast : 
Whilst  every  part,  &  every  facultie 
Knows  its  owne  Dutie,  &  does  like  it  best, 
No  sparkle  of  Rebellion  can  peep 
Where  all  their  proper  Orbs  &  Stations  keep. 

Then  blame  Her  not,  if  freely  Shee  refuse 
What  learned  Luxurie  has  studied  out ; 
And  scorne  ye  fulnesse  Shee  might  justly  use, 
Those  Dainties  ever  dear,  &  double  bought ; 
For  though  unto  ye  Purse  they  costly  are 
Alas,  they  spend  ye  Heart  much  more  by  far. 

Shee  knows  a  Garden  where  true  Dainties  grow, 
Sweets  ever  Sweet,  ev'n  after  they  are  downe : 
There  would  Shee  feast,  but  'tis  not  here  below 
In  our  dull  World  that  those  Delights  are  sowne. 
Blame  not  Her  Abstinence,  She  is  most  wise 
Keeps  Her  Stomach  fresh  for  Paradise. 


The  Little  Ones   Greatnes 


Suffer  little  Children  to  come  unto  Mee,  &  forbid  them  not, 
for  of  such  is  ye  Kingdome  of  God. 

LET  ye  Brave  Proud,  &  Mighty  Men 
Passe  on  in  state 
Unto  some  Gate 
Ample  enough  to  let  them  in. 

My  palace  door  was  ever  narrow : 
No  Mountains  may 
Crowd  in  that  way, 

Nor  at  a  Needles  Eye  get  thorow. 

Heavn  needeth  no  such  helps  as  They : 

My  Royall  Seat 

Is  high  &  great 
Enough  wthout  poore  heaps  of  Clay. 

Without  Hydropick  Names  of  Pride, 

Without  ye  gay 

Deceits  y1  play 
About  fond  Kings  on  every  side. 

Let  all  ye  bunched  Camells  goe 

With  this  rich  load 
To  ye  Broad  Road. 

Heavn  needs  no  Treasure  from  below : 

49  E 


50       Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

But  rather  little  tender  things, 

On  whom  to  poure 
Its  own  vast  store, 

And  make  of  Wormes,  celestiall  Kings. 

Heavns  little  Gate  is  onely  fit 

Deare  Babes,  for  you, 
And  I,  you  know, 

Am  but  a  Lamb,  though  King  of  it. 


Come  then,  meek  Brethren,  hither  come 
These  armes  you  see 
At  present,  bee 

The  Gate  by  which  you  must  goe  home. 

There  will  I  meet  with  you  againe, 
And  mounted  on 
My  gentle  Throne 

Soft  King  of  Lambs  for  ever  reigne. 


The  Voyage 


COULD  I  but  be 
Perpetuallie 
The  man  I  was  ye  other  Day  : 

No  Name  of  fear 
How  fierce  so  e'r 
Mee  from  my  Selfe  could  fright  away. 

No  haven,  say  I, 

To  Privacy : 
When  once  my  labouring  Heart  gat  thither, 

My  calmed  Breast 

Floated  in  Rest, 
And  feard  no  furie  of  fowle  weather : 

There  did  I  see 
All  things  agree 

In  y*  Sweet  Centre  of  Gods  Will ; 
Where  had  I  cast 
My  Anchor,  fast 

And  sure  had  been  my  Vessell  still. 

But  foolish  I 

Went  by  &  by 
To  hoise  my  tattered  Saile  againe, 

Unrigg'd,  unman'd, 

I  put  from  land 
Into  ye  Worlds  tempestuous  Maine. 

5i 


52       Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

The  flattering  Sea 
Kept  truce  wth  Mee 

A  while,  &  least  my  Spirits  should  faile, 
Gently  behind 
Came  every  Wind 

And  puff'd  me  up  more  then  my  Saile. 

Smooth  e  was  my  way, 
And  I  most  gay 

Went  on,  top  and  top-gallant  fine : 

I  swum  in  pleasure 
At  ease  and  leisure, 

And  never  thought  the  Sea  was  brine. 

Thus  did  I  ride 
O'r  Time  &  Tide 

Till  far  ingaged  in  the  Maine, 
That  libertie 
Inclosed  Mee 

Fast  Pris'ner  in  ye  boundlesse  Plaine. 

When  loe  a  Clowd 
Began  to  crowd 

Day  out  of  Heavn,  &  my  poor  sight : 
I  look'd,  but  I 
Could  not  descry 

Ought,  but  a  strange  Meridian  Night. 

Before  I  would  not, 
And  now  I  could  not 

Behold  that  Heavn,  which  hid  its  face 
From  Me,  as  I 
Before  did  my 

From  it,  &  its  all-sweetning  grace. 

The  treacherous  Wind 
Was  soon  combind 

With  ye  false  waves  to  mock  poor  Me, 
Tossing  Me  high, 
Ev'n  to  ye  skie, 

Which  well  it  knew  I  could  not  see. 


The  Voyage  53 

Then  down  I  fell 

As  low  as  Hell ; 
Alas  both  bottom  lesse  were  found, 

The  Sea  &  my 

Vast  Miserie, 
Where  I  a  thousand  times  was  drown'd. 

Still  mutinous  Passions 

In  sundry  fashions 
Toss'd  me  about  from  Wave  to  Wave ; 

Still  anxious  Cares 

And  helpless  feares 
Perplex'd  Alarms  &  Onsets  gave. 

Till  at  ye  last 

Their  furie  cast 
Me  on  a  Rock  &  split  me  quite : 

A  thousand  Men 

And  yet  not  one 
Was  I,  a  most  distracted  Wight. 

No  help  alas 

For  me  there  was 
From  those  vexatious  Vanities 

Which  fild  ye  World  ; 

They  onely  hurFd 
Vain  froath  &  foam  into  mine  eyes. 

Trust  me  no  more 

For  I  am  poore 
Cry'd  heavy  Gold ;  Much  lower  I 

Shall  make  you  sink ; 

You  must  not  think 
That  money  true  Content  will  buy. 

Then  Pleasure  cries 

Turne  back  thine  eyes, 
Thy  hankering  eyes  ;  No  help  dwells  heer : 

Although  my  skin 

Be  fair,  within 
Live  Anguish,  Rotten nesse,  &  fear. 


54       Poems  of  Joseph   Beaumont 

Nay  all  this  All, 
Which  We  miscall, 

Shrunk  to  its  Nothing,  &  spake  true, 
In  Mee  you  must 
Not  look  to  trust, 

Who  am  as  poor  &  weak  as  you. 

And  must  I  die 
False  Freinds,  said  I 

Whilst  You  look  on  ?     This  Vessell  Heer 
Grieves  me  not  much 
But  oh  I  grutch 

To  loose  ye  Jewell  it  doth  beare : 

A  richer  one 
Then  ever  shone 

In  Princes  Crowne  :  Far  more  it  cost 
Then  You,  all  You 
Are  worth  ;  &  know 

It  is  a  Soule  :  Must  That  be  lost  ? 

Heer  did  I  faint 
But  my  Complaint 

Mov'd  a  good  Friend,  whose  Love  did  buy 
That  Gemm  for  Mee  : 
Propitious  Hee 

Pitty'd  my  helplesse  Miserie, 

I  had  done  thinking, 
And  now  was  sinking, 

When  loe  He  brings  a  peece  of  Wood  : 
Hold  fast  on  this, 
Said  He,  it  is 

Thine  Ark  against  ye  worlds  vast  Flood. 

This  was  ye  Tree 
Of  Life  to  Mee  : 

Much  like  an  Anchor  was  its  frame ; 
A  Tree  of  Rest 
All  sweet,  all  blest 

A  Crosse  in  Nothing  but  its  Name. 


The  Voyage  55 

I  held  it  fast 

And  easily  past 
The  tamed  Waves  :  The  boistrous  Winde 

Now  blew  away 

It  selfe,  &  Day 
Ypon  ye  Smoothed  Ocean  shinde. 

An  Heavnly  Blast 

Made  gracious  hast, 
And  filld  my  Weather-beaten  Sail ; 

The  Spirit  of  Love 

Me  gently  drove 
Gainst  whom  no  Ocean  may  prevaile. 

And  as  ye  Land 

Grew  neer  at  hand, 
Behold,  said  Hee,  ye  trustie  Shore. 

Wouldst  Thou  be  sure 

To  rest  secure  ? 
Venture  into  ye  Main  no  more : 

Or  sail  wth  Mee 

In  ye  Sweet  Sea, 
Whose  everlasting  streams  doe  flow 

Above  ye  Sphears, 

Where  never  fears 
Did  rise,  nor  treacherous  Tempests  blow. 

Thus  did  I  come 

All  shipwrack'd  home 
Unto  my  Selfe  :  &  there  must  dwell 

Private  and  still, 

Unlesse  I  will 
Another  Voyage  make  to  Hell. 


Unreasonable  Reason 


ALL  Christian  Soules  beware ;  Hell  never  went 
More  politickly  clad,  Nor  wiselyer  bent 
Her  dangerous  powers  :  Active  &  quick  as  Thought 
Her  fair  well-spoken  Serpents  glide  about, 
And  by  ye  fatall  Unsuspected  Tree 
Of  Knowledge  still  contrive  our  Miserie ; 
That  Wee  more  wisely  might  be  fooles,  &  gain 
By  Profound  Art,  a  far  Profounder  Pain 
Reason  they  breath :  Such  reason  as  at  first 
Their  Father  spake  in  Paradise ;  Accurst 
And  stupid  Reason,  wch  presumes  to  trie 
Her  wretched  Strength  against  ye  Majestie 
Of  Gods  eternall  Wisdome,  God  ye  Son 
Must  not  exceed  Her  Comprehension. 
Thus  is  a  Syllogisme  Her  God,  &  Three 
Spruce  Propositions,  Her  great  TRINITIE. 

Alas  ye  Silly  World  deluded  quite 
By  grosse  illiterate  Faith,  had  lost  its  sight, 
And  in  ye  Midst  of  Blind  Devotion 
Had  hudled  up  its  Christ  &  God  in  one. 
Yea  Christ  forgot  his  word,  as  loth  to  keep 
From  this  so  gainfull  Errour  Us  his  Sheep  : 
Till  Sacred  Arius  fir'd  wth  zealous  love 
Did  vindicate  ye  Godhead,  &  remove 
Intruded  Christ.     This  this  was  heavnly  He 
Whose  Wisdome  could  Reforme  ye  Dietie. 

But  stay  &  view  him  well :  what  ailes  ye  Saint  ? 
Is  it  ye  Aire  of  Nice  y*  makes  Him  faint  ? 
Suspects  He  yl  his  God  cannot  requite 
His  courtesie,  &  with  his  Thunder  fright 
That  of  ye  Councills  ?     Hath  his  zeale  forgot 
It  selfe  ?     All  Hell  ev'n  now  was  not  so  hot 

56 


Unreasonable  Reason  57 

As  Hee :  What  qualm  is  this,  whose  power  can  make 
The  Mighty  Champion  of  ye  Godhead  shake  ? 
Alas  see  how  ye  helplesse  Serpent  winds 
To  scape  ye  Blow :  &  yet  no  shift  he  finds, 
But  to  disgorge  his  poyson,  &  confesse 
His  feigned  zeale  was  Reall  Wickednesse. 

Fond  Hypocrite !  &  didst  Thou  think  to  play 
With  dreadfull  Je sus  ?     Was't  enough  to  say 
Hee's  ye  True  God,  whilst  thy  proud  heart  defies 
Thy  Tongues  Repentance,  &  as  stoutly  cries 
Against  that  Godhead}     No:  Hee'l  teach  thee  hence 
To  know  &  feel  his  true  Omnipotence. 

Goe  then  ye  Worlds  foule  Excrement ;  thy  home 
Is  in  ye  Common  Draught :  there  thy  just  doom 
Will  find  Thee  out.     The  Churches  bowels  Thou 
With  Viperous  Teeth  hast  boldly  torne,  &  now 
Thine  owne  must  answer  them.     Just  Vengeance  !     Thus 
"Damn1  &  Judas  dy'd,  and  thus  dyes  Arius. 

Come  now,  who  will  be  next,  &  bravely  trie 
To  teare  down  Christ  from  his  Eternitie  ? 
Who  strives  to  follow  these  great  steps,  &  prove 
How  far  his  Noble  Logik  is  above 
His  Saviours  Godhead  ?     Lo,  I  see  ye  Sage, 
A  reverend  Mitre  crownes  his  awfull  age : 
Forth  at  his  Eyes  looks  Wisdome,  zeale  doth  flame 
In  his  Designes,  Photinus  is  his  Name. 
And  well  He  quit  him  too ;  far  ventur'd  He 
Against  ye  face  of  pure  Divinity : 
And  doubtlesse  much  he  might  have  done,  but  that 
A*  thunder-clap  from  Sardis  spoiled  his  plot. 
Whence  overborne  by  ye  Strong  Curse,  He  fell, 
Unhappy  Wight  aforetime  sent  to  Hell. 

Then  look  we  lower ;  as  they  older  grow 
The  times  may  wiser  prove,  &  better  know 
How  to  assert  poor  Truth,  that  ye  big  Name 
Of  Church  &  Councills  may  no  longer  shame 
Sinceer  Religion,  nor  bear  up  so  high 
Th'  Usurping  Crest  of  Catholik  Tyrannic 
Our,  our  sure  is  ye  Age  from  whose  blest  Wombe 
Both  naked  Truth,  &  Her  Protector  come. 


5  8        Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

And  oh  who  is  it  ?     Who  but  valiant  Hee 

Reasons  new  Master,  Wits  Epitomie, 

The  Prince  of  Syllogismes,  ye  worthy  Heire 

Of  learned  Arius,  fit  to  repaire 

His  failing  Brood,  Hee,  whose  more  reverend  Fame 

Can  change  ye  simple  Antiochian  Name, 

And  by  Arts  vast  Profoundnes  make  a  Man 

Of  foolish  Christian,  wise  Socinian  ? 

Peace  then,  once  more  vain  Church,  peace  idle  Creed, 
Peace  doting  Fathers,  &  with  reverend  heed 
Hear  what  Resolves  ye  Holy  Oracle  makes  : 
Peace  all  ye  World,  'tis  great  Socinas  speaks  : 

And  now  h'as  spoke,  what  is  ye  Thing  h'as  said  ? 
Has  but  blaspheemd  more  deeply,  &  betrayd 
His  timorous  Predecessor  :  Tender  He 
Durst  never  belch  forth  such  broad  Impietie. 
O  how  SocincCs  thrift  improves  ye  Stock 
That  Arius  left !     Tis  now  a  Mighty  flock, 
And  by  his  prudent  Husbandry  alone 
Is  made  ten  thousand  Heresies  of  one. 

Look  how  ye  Traytour  steales  ye  Spirits  Sword 
And  with  ye  word  of  God  wounds  God  ye  WORD. 
Thus  Belzebub  of  old  did  with  Him  fight 
Masking  with  Scripture  his  Infernall  Spight. 
And  what  does  all  that  Scripture  make  for  Thee 
Which  thou  propoundst  but  in  a  fallacie  ? 
Thy  Major  &  thy  Minor  cannot  prove 
Any  such  Termes  to  dwell  in  God  above. 
How  many  Texts  proclaime  thy  trayterous  Tongue 
All  black  with  Blasphemies,  exactly  wrung 
Out  of  ye  Dregs  of  Darknes  !     O  how  plain 
Speak  those  Great  Words,  &  antidate  thy  vain 
Sophistik  Answers,  so  y'  Thou  thenceforth 
Wert  many  ages  damn'd  before  thy  Birth. 
Scorne  simple  Faith  ;  We  like  it  ne'r  ye  lesse : 
Turks  may  believe  as  much  as  you  professe. 

Behind  Him  wretched  Viper  :  Never  trie 
To  tempt  ye  Lord  thy  God  with  Sophistrie. 
Reason  it  selfe  laughs  at  thee,  &  defies 
Thy  Spurious  Art,  with  Sounder  Subtlities. 


Unreasonable  Reason  59 

The  Syllogismes  a  Catholike  Hand  doth  frame 
Put  all  thy  juggling  Tricks  to  putid  Shame. 
The  utmost  strength  of  thy  profoundest  sence 
And  disingenuous  shifts  and  Impudence ; 
Whose  vain  but  peevish  furie  doth  confesse, 
How  strong  is  Faith,  &  how  weak  wickednesse. 

May  now  ye  Curses  of  all  Christian  Tongues 
Fall  sure  upon  thine  Head.     May  what  belongs 
To  thy  first  Father  Satan  &  his  Hell, 
In  thy  black  Memorie  for  ever  dwell ; 
May  all  thy  damned  Brood  where'r  it  creep 
Feel  their  own  Vipers  stings,  which  now  they  keep 
Close  in  their  studies.     May  Confusions  Blast 
Dared  so  long,  come  thundring  downe  at  last. 
May  their  fowle  Names  prevent  ye  Destinie 
Of  their  vile  Corps,  &  rot  before  they  die. 
Be  hate  their  Portion  :  May  to  Them  our  Spight 
Be  like  our  love  to  Christy  both  infinite, 
Unlesse  they'l  not  be  too  wise  to  imbrace 
For  horrid  Monsters,  Truths  all-beauteous  face. 
Be  toads  more  fair  j  be  Adders  hisses  sweet ; 
Be  Dragons  comely ;  May  these  rather  meet 
In  my  poor  Bosome,  then  my  Heart  should  drink 
But  ye  least  Drop  of  ye  Socinian  sink. 

All  hail  fair  Truth,  whose  Senioritie 
Stops  ye  vain  Claime  of  upstart  Heresie. 
Hail  Noble  Faith,  may  thy  Triumphant  Throne 
Stand  sure  upon  th'  Eternall  Corner-stone. 
Hail  Holy  Church,  thy  reverend  Wisdome  knows 
The  countlesse  Greatnesse  of  thy  Sacred  Spouse. 
How  dear  to  Thee  is  His  Divinitie  ! 
That  Thou  holdst  sure,  That  sure  upholdeth  Thee. 
Thou  hast  ye  Keys,  lock  fast  in  their  dark  Cell 
Socinas,  &  all  other  Gates  of  Hell. 
Crush  those  fell  Powers,  which  war  wth  God  &  Thee, 
And  in  thy  Militant  State  Triumphant  bee. 
Thou  hast  ye  Keys,  Dear  Mother  open  wide 
The  golden  Gates  of  Heavn,  &  safely  guide 
Thy  humble  Sons,  whose  HOPE,  &  wholl  DESIRE 
Is  in  thy  Blessed  Bosome  to  expire. 


House  &  Home 


WHAT  is  House,  &  what  is  Home, 
Where  with  Freedome  Thou  hast  roome, 
And  Mayst  to  all  Tyrants  say, 
This  you  cannot  take  away  ? 

Tis  No  Thing  with  Doors  &  Walls, 
Which  at  every  earthquake  falls  : 
No  fair  Towers,  whose  Princely  fashion 
Is  but  Plunders  invitation  : 
No  stout  Marble  Structure,  where 
Walls  Eternitie  doe  dare  : 
No  Brasse  Gates,  no  Bars  of  Steel, 
Though  Times  Teeth  they  scorne  to  feel : 
Brasse  is  not  so  bold  as  Pride 
If  on  Powers  Wings  it  ride ; 
Marbles  not  so  hard  as  Spight 
Armd  with  lawlesse  Strength  to  fight. 
Right,  &  just  Possession,  be 
Potent  Names,  when  Laws  stand  free : 
But  if  once  that  Rampart  fall, 
Stoutest  Theeves  inherit  all : 
To  be  rich  &  weak's  a  Sure 
And  sufficient  forfeiture. 

Seek  no  more  abroad  say  I 
House  &  Home,  but  turne  thine  eye 
Inward,  &  observe  thy  Breast ; 
There  alone  dwells  solid  Rest. 
Thats  a  close  immured  Tower 
Which  can  mock  all  hostile  Power. 
60 


House  &  Home  61 

To  thy  selfe  a  Tenant  be, 
And  inhabit  safe  &  free. 

Say  not  that  this  House  is  small, 
Girt  up  in  a  narrow  wall ; 
In  a  cleanly  sober  Mind 
Heavn  it  selfe  full  Room  doth  find. 
The  Infinite  Creator  can 
Dwell  in  it,  &  may  not  Man  ? 
Contented  heer  make  thy  abode 
With  thy  selfe,  &  with  thy  God 
Heer,  in  this  sweet  Privacie 
Maist  Thou  with  thy  selfe  agree, 
And  keep  House  in  Peace,  though  all 
The  Universes  Fabrick  fall. 
No  disaster  can  distresse  Thee  : 
Nor  no  furie  dispossesse  Thee : 
Let  all  war  &  plunder  come, 
Still  mayst  Thou  dwell  safe  at  home. 

Home  is  every  where  to  Thee 
Who  canst  thine  owne  dwelling  be. 
Yea  though  ruthlesse  Death  assaile  Thee, 
Still  thy  Lodging  will  not  faile  Thee : 
Still  thy  Soule's  thine  owne,  &  Shee 
To  an  House  remov'd  shall  be, 
An  eternall  House  above 
Wall'd,  &  Roof'd  &  Pav'd  wth  Love. 
There  shall  these  Mudwalls  of  thine 
Gallantly  repair'd  outshine 
Mortall  Starrs :  No  Starrs  shall  be 
In  that  Heavn,  but  such  as  Thee. 


The   Candle 


THE  Life  and  Death  I  once  did  mark 
Of  a  wax  Candle  in  ye  Dark : 
And  by  its  light  Me  thought  I  read 

Poor  Mans  short  story, 
His  slender  glory 
Soon  lighted,  soon  extinguished. 

In  this  blind  World,  all  black  as  Night, 
Is  Kindled  each  Mans  native  Light ; 
And  Kindled  at  a  Senior  Flame 

Which  if  you  shall 

A  Candle  call, 
You  but  describe  a  Parents  Name. 

When  first  this  infant  Light  is  borne, 

How  tender  is  its  twinckling  Morne  ! 

When  every  petty,  paltrie  Wind 

Which  walks  ye  way 
Makes  it  his  play 

To  puffe  it  out,  &  leave  it  blind. 

As  it  does  stronger  grow,  it  finds 

More  boistrous  stormes,  &  greater  Winds, 

And  yet  ye  worst  and  foulest  fear 

Doth  from  within 

Its  mischeif  gin, 
When  a  slie  Theefe  appeareth  there. 
62 


The  Candle  63 

But  yet  of  all  ye  rest,  ye  cheife 
And  most  pernicious  fatall  Theefe 
Is  blazing,  droyling  Luxurie  : 

Never  was  Light 

So  rich  &  bright 
But  this  could  wast  it  suddenlie. 

But  still  ye  Snuffer  may,  (&  this 
Nothing  but  sharp  Affliction  is) 
The  wastfull  Theefe  expell  &  set 

The  trimmed  Light 

In  thriving  plight, 
Right  safe  and  quiet,  clean  &  neat. 

If  downward  then  it  does  propend, 

It  turnes  its  owne  Theefe,  &  does  spend 

It  selfe  in  vaine :  Steadfast  &  even 

The  Light  must  be, 

Perpetually 
Upright  &  burning  towards  Heaven. 

If  it  be  hurried  heer  and  there, 
The  troubled  Flame  cannot  forbear 
To  wast  its  Stock :  that  Life  is  best, 

For  Man,  which  may 

It  selfe  in  joy 
Immured  safe  in  private  Rest. 

Yet  in  that  Rest  ye  Candle  lives 
By  preying  on  it  Selfe,  &  thrives 
To  its  owne  mine :  Tis  ye  same 

False  Fire  from  whom 

Its  Life  doth  come, 
Wch  proves  at  length  its  Funerall  Flame. 

And  then,  how  fine  so  e'r  before, 
In  Faithfull  tale  It  must  restore 
Its  Principles  ;  &  so  discover 

What  was  before ; 

Nothing  alas,  but  poor 
And  sallow  Ashes  furbish' d  over. 


64       Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

Thus  All  must  dye.     But  yet  We  see 
That  In  their  Deaths  they  disagree. 
Some  leave  a  stink,  which  breatheth  in 

Their  Memorie ; 

And  these  are  they 
Whose  grosse  Composure  smelt  of  sin. 


Yet  Purer  Candles  leave  behind 
A  pleasing  smell,  sweet  as  ye  Wind 
Which  at  ye  Phenix's  Funerall  Flame 
Perfum'd  his  Breath, 
And  blew  her  Death 
Through  all  ye  fairest  Mouths  of  Fame. 

But  those  clear  Tapors,  wch  we  find 
Of  Virgin  wax,  leave  Them  behind 
And  by  Unstained  Puritie 

Far,  far  excell 

All  parallell ; 
These  sweetlyest  live,  and  sweetlyest  die. 

But  These  &  They  die  not  to  be 

Bury'd  in  that  blind  Destinie. 

Heavn  for  ye  Dying  Spark  prepares 
A  better  Spheer 
Above,  &  there 

Converts  ye  Candles  into  Starrs. 


The  Losse 


o 


WHO  has  found ! 
For  I  have  lost 
A  thing  y*  cost 
Far  more  then  India's  worth,  a  Thing 
Which  if  sinceer  &  sound, 
Might  be  a  present  for  a  Mighty  King. 

It  was,  (had  I 
An  Heart  to  break, 
This  Thought  would  make 
The  rupture  strait ;  but  I  have  none  :) 
It  was,  oh  heare  my  Crie 
Deare  Freinds,  it  was  my  Heart,  my  Heart  is  gone. 

A  Month  agoe, 
Or  therabout 
It  slipped  out 
Whilst  I  went  carelesse  on  my  way. 
But  where  it  dropt,  or  how, 
Alas  regardlesse  wretch,  I  cannot  say. 

Sometimes  mine  Eare, 

Sometimes  mine  Eye 

Lets  her  passe  by. 

Sometimes  a  Crowd  of  idle  words 

Drove  without  wit  or  feare 

Safe  Convoy  to  a  wandring  Heart  affords. 

65 


66       Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

Sometime  my  Watch 
But  loosely  set 
Doth  easily  let 
Her  steale  away  :  whilst  idle  I 
Melt  in  soft  ease,  &  catch 
At  gewgaw  Nothings  as  they  flutter  by. 

A  thousand  wayes 
Alas  I  see 
Where  nimble  Shee 
Might  make  escape :  each  sin  I  doe 
An  open  passage  layes, 
And  by  that  Mouth  invites  ye  soule  to  goe. 

O  who  has  found  ! 
The  Thing,  alas, 
Unworthy  was 
The  taking  up  :  Sweet  pleasures  say, 
When  you  did  Mee  surround, 
Bore  your  soft  Streame  my  weaker  Heart  away  ? 

Say  needlesse  Cares 
Did  your  wild  Number 
My  Heart  incumber, 
And  made  her  carelesse  of  Her  selfe, 
Whilst  vain  unmanly  feares 
Threw  her  away  upon  Lifes  sordid  Pelfe  ? 

How  shall  I  find 
My  Heart  againe, 
Who,  though  most  faine 
Yet  have  no  Heart  to  seek  that  Prize ! 
Thus  one  already  blind 
Desires  to  seek  his  Sight,  but  wants  his  Eyes. 

On  Thee  alone 
Who  art  all  Eye 
My  hopes  rely. 
If  Thou  wilt  find  this  Heart  for  Mee, 
He  give  it  unto  none 
Henceforth  (&  tis  a  bargaine)  but  to  Thee. 


The  Houreglasse 


ONCE  as  I  in  my  Study  sate  &  saw 
The  faithfull  Houreglasse  wth  what  speed  it  ran, 
(Much  faster  then  my  dull  Invention) 
Me  thought  I  might  from  thence  some  Emblem  draw. 

I  and  ye  Sand  neer  kindred  had,  my  Dust 
Will  proove  it  so :  &  for  ye  tender  glasse 
My  brittle  Constitution  may  passe. 
Time  measureth  my  life,  &  run  it  must, 

But  heer's  ye  difference :  That  its  houre  will  run, 
Whilst  my  poor  Life  hath  not  one  minute  sure. 
The  Glasse,  if  us'd  with  care,  may  long  indure  : 
My  most  uncertaine  Life  may  break  alone. 

When  that  is  out  strait  turned  up  againe 
Its  Life  renewed  is,  &  runs  afresh  : 
But  when  my  Dust  is  out,  this  helplesse  Flesh 
Must  in  its  ruine  to  Times  end  remaine. 


Yet  then  at  length  my  Fate  shall  happier  be : 
My  Dust  once  turned  up  from  my  long  Grave, 
Runs  not  by  sleight  vain  houres,  but  stout  &  brave 
Triumphs  o'r  Time  by  sure  Eternitie. 


67 


Melancholie 


OUT  hideous  Monster;  in  thy  Name 
Blacknesse  &  furie  dwell : 
Home  to  thy  Native  Hell, 
Whose  foule  Complexion  is  ye  same, 

The  same  with  thine  :  both  Hell  &  Thee 

Proud  furious  DISCONTENT 
At  once  begat,  &  sent 

DARKNESSE  your  Monstrous  Nurse  to  bee. 

She  taught  you  both  to  feed  &  feast 

Upon  your  Selves.     Feed  on, 
And  let  poor  Man  alone ; 

The  worst  of  food  becomes  you  best. 

Your  Parallel  will  truly  hold ; 

Or  if  some  Qualitie 

In  you  doe  disagree, 
Be  that  ye  hot  Hell,  Thou  ye  cold. 

Goe  then  &  temper  Her  ;  goe  dwell 

Secure  from  feare  of  Joy  : 
No  Sweets  will  e'r  annoy 

Or  interrupt  ye  Pangs  of  Hell. 

Goe  :  that  foule  Monstrous  leaden  load 

Which  round  about  Thee  twines, 
With  our  Desires  combines 

And  tuggs  Thee  downe  to  that  steep  Road. 
68 


Melancholie  69 

No ;  I  must  not  beleeve  Thee  :  Goe ; 

That  palenesse  of  thy  Look 

Indeed  I  once  mistook 
For  Pieties  face,  &  lov'd  it  so. 

Thy  sober  garb  demure  &  chast 

Seem'd  a  fair  Preparation 
For  Heavnly  Contemplation, 

Which  all  this  World  away  doth  cast. 

Needs  wouldst  Thou,  grown  severe,  despise 
The  Worlds  fantastik  Joyes, 
And  let  no  fading  Toyes 

Or  charme  thine  Eares,  or  win  thine  Eyes. 

Alas,  poore  Feind  it  will  not  doe : 

I  know  Thee  now  to  bee 

But  y*  more  Devill :  Hee 
When  worst,  does  in  his  best  Clothes  goe ; 

And  those  are  thy  white  Looks :  begone 
And  take  along  wth  Thee 
Thy  wretched  Daughters  Three, 

Doubts  Fear^  &  Desperation. 

An  active  cheerly  Heart's  for  Mee ; 
An  Heart  of  lively  Fire, 
Flaming  with  brave  Desire 

Able  to  melt  thy  Lead  &  Thee. 

An  Heart  of  Comfort  allways  full, 

Yet  taught  to  beare  her  part 
In  sturdyest  Greife ;  an  Heart, 

Which  can  be  sober,  yet  not  dull. 


Tobacco 


INCROACHING  Weed ;  had  not  thine  India  room 
Ample  enough  for  thy  bold  leaves,  but  they 
Over  ye  Widest  Seas  must  reach,  &  come 
To  taint  another  world  ?     Where  they  display 

More  Conquest  gain'd  by  their  own  power  alone, 
Then  e'r  ye  Noble  Laurell  waited  on. 

Welcome  Thou  wert  at  first,  &  thought  to  be 
But  tame  &  honest  poyson,  which  good  Art 
Might  mixe  into  a  wholsomenes :  but  Wee 
Mistook  thy  power,  whose  cheife  &  mightiest  part 
Doth  on  ye  Soule  not  on  ye  Body  prey 
And  can  heal  this,  whilst  that  it  doth  destroy. 

Thou  growst  in  India  but  upon  ye  ground, 
In  England  Thou  in  Humane  Breasts  art  set. 
How  will  our  generous  Feilds  henceforth  confound 
Their  Masters  basenes !     What  our  Earth  would  not 
Vouchsafe  to  foster,  Men  receive  into 
Their  hearts,  &  spend  their  time  to  make  it  grow. 

Wert  Thou  ye  Tree  of  Life,  no  greater  care 
Could  wait  upon  Thee  :  As  brave  Soules  of  old 
Chips  of  ye  reverend  Crosse  about  them  wore, 
So  we  thy  Relicks  carefully  doe  fold 

And  beare  them  ever  with  Us,  as  if  Wee 
Safe  under  thy  Leaves  shade  could  onely  be. 
70 


Tobacco  7 1 


And  art  Thou  not  a  vapour  full  as  vain 

As  Man  himselfe  ?     O  costly  smoke,  could  We 

But  estimate  thy  Nothing,  we  might  gain 

A  Virtue  for  our  Prodigalitie, 

And  spend  in  Incense  Altars  to  perfume, 
What  in  thy  empty  stink  We  now  consume. 

That  Embleme  which  is  stamp'd  so  plain  in  Thee 
Might  well  have  frighted  Us  :  A  Mouth  from  whence 
Stream  Fire  &  Smoak,  must  needs  a  Copie  be 
Of  Erebus *s  black  Jawes  ;  yet  some  pretence 
Or  others  still  we  have  ye  Pipe  to  fill : 
Rather  then  part  wth  thee  wee'l  look  like  Hell. 

All  Virtues  have  their  Charme  &  Vices  too, 
But  no  inchantment  may  compare  with  Thee  : 
Who  ever  else  without  Devoto's  goe, 
Yet  still  Thy  potent  Pipe  will  followd  be. 

Incroaching  Weed,  which  growst  upon  us  thus  : 
First  We  took  Thee,  now  Thou  Takest  Us. 

About  in  Pounds  &  Ounces  dost  Thou  goe, 
By  which  we  doe  compute  thy  price  &  worth. 
Was  ever  Nothing  sold  by  weight  till  now, 
Or  smoak  put  in  ye  Scale  ?     But  since  thy  birth 
Our  subtile  Age  a  difference  hath  found 
Between  an  Ounce  of  Nothing  &  a  Pound. 

But  stay,  I  now  recant.     Poor  herb,  alas, 

Tis  Wee  incroach  &  Tyrannize  on  Thee. 

Thou  from  thine  India  ne'r  desirdst  to  passe, 

But  captiv'd  wert  by  our  own  Luxurie. 

Who  keeps  Thee  a  condemned  helplesse  Prize, 
And  makes  Thee  dayly  Her  burnt  Sacrifice. 

I  know  thou  cheer'st  ye  Spirits,  help'st  ye  Braine, 
Repell'st  bad  Aires,  to  Students  art  a  Freind, 
If  us'd  wth  sober  Reason  :  but  our  vaine 
Humor  prevails  ;  Our  Selves  &  Time  We  spend 
We  know  not  why ;  Such  is  our  Affectation, 
Our  nose  must  smoak  onely  to  be  in  fashion. 


72        Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

A  worthy  fashion  sure ;  ye  French^  they  say, 
Those  Universall  Fashionmongers  scorne 
This  smoakie  humor  :  And  why  may  not  They 
Heer  too  be  our  Example  ?     Were  We  borne 

To  copie  all  but  their  Sobrietie  ? 

Not  France's  Followers,  but  her  Apes  are  Wee. 

Unhappy  Wee  !     What  Sun  of  Reformation 
Will  chase  these  swarthy  Clowds  of  smoak  away, 
And  cleare  our  Aire  from  this  black  Usurpation, 
Which  robbs  Us  of  our  pure  &  genuine  Day  ! 

That  so  this  Weed  may  in  its  proper  use 

Be  Physik,  &  not  Diet  in  abuse. 


N 


Patience 


EW  come  from  Church  (a  Place  where  I 
Might  have  been  fortifide 
All  Tempests  to  abide) 
A  Storme  of  News  both  foule  &  high 
Blew  in  my  Face,  &  quickly  beat  Me  over 
E'r  a  reflected  thought  I  could  recover. 

I  had  forgot  this  Age  of  lies, 

Wherin  Fame's  Trumpet  now 
Yl  in  ye  wars  doth  blow 
Sounds  none  but  usefull  victories, 
My  stick  Defeats  not  gotten  untill  they 
Outface  Us,  &  our  timorous  Hopes  betray. 

Yet  what  if  Fame  for  once  hath  given 
To  her  owne  Trade  ye  Lie, 
And  spoke  a  Veritie  ? 
What  if  my  Partie  now  be  driven 
To  flight,  &  must  expect  another  Day 
Wherin  to  pluck  their  most  deserved  Bay  ? 

Must  I  be  Umpire,  must  ye  Fate 
Of  Mighty  Armies  be 
Waiting  on  my  Decree  ? 
Is  Heavns  Command  growne  out  of  date, 
Or  does  not  God  much  better  know  then  I, 
Which  Partie  ought  to  reap  ye  Victorie  ? 

73 


74       Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

Sure  He  is  Lord  of  Hosts,  &  may 

Show  Conquests  where  he  please : 
Perhaps  a  Thorne  agrees 
At  this  time  better  then  a  Bay 
With  those,  whom  my  fond  &  unfriendly  love 
Though  They  grow  prowd,  would  still  have  Victors  prove. 

Laurells  a  glorious  Curse  may  be, 
Hells  Legions  are  not 
Blessed  because  they  put 
Poore  Men  sometimes  to  flight.     Nay  Wee 
Though  Conquered,  by  humble  Patience  may 
Snatch  Triumphs  from  their  hands,  who  win  ye  Day. 

Let  them  Triumph  :  Still  Truth  &  Right 
Though  beaten  are  ye  best. 
Should  these  not  be  opprest 
Sometimes,  our  just  suspition  might 
Be  questioning,  whither  they  be  not  of  kin 
To  those  faire  Names,  which  mask  our  Enemies  Sin. 

Patience ',  Great  Lord,  on  us  bestow ; 
Palmes  in  our  value  far 
Nobler  then  Laurells  are  : 
So  We  may  have  this  Prize,  doe  Thou 
Bestow  ye  Day  on  whom  it  pleaseth  Thee : 
Patience  is  sure  &  ample  Victorie. 


The   Check 


TROUBLED  againe  ?     Why  surely  Thou 
Art  more  rebellious  now 
Then  those  Thou  greivest  at,  whilst  thy 
Unruly  Will  full  against  Gods  doth  flie. 

And  foole,  what  can  thy  greiving  doe  ? 

Will  that  torment  thy  foe  ? 
Or  what  will  it  advantage  Thee, 
That  Thou  a  Rebell  gratis  thus  canst  bee  ? 

Wer't  not  more  noble  to  make  Thine 
Owne  will  become  Divine  ? 
Say  freely  thus  :  Gods  Will  be  done, 
And  then  thou  makest  Thine  &  His  all  one. 

So  shalt  Thou  vex  no  more  that  they 

Thine  Enemies  win  ye  Day : 
But  spend  thy  Greife  on  thine  owne  Sin, 
Which  gave  them  cause  to  fight,  &  strength  to  win. 


75 


Life 


A 


LAS  poor  Life,  No  more  will  I 
Miscall  that  foule  Hypocrisie, 
By  which  Thou  stealst  ye  dainty  Face 
Of  Sweetnes,  and 
Dost  men  command 
To  court  and  idolize  thy  borrowed  grace. 

The  Monstrous  Mixtures  temperd  by 
Foule  Fiends  &  Wizzards  Industrie 
Lesse  guilty  are  of  Mischeife,  then 

Those  Looks  of  thine, 
Which  undermine 
With  false  inchantments  Us  beguiled  Men. 

Thy  Treason  plainely  I  descry'd 
The  other  day  by  ye  Beds  side 
Of  a  young  Friend  of  mine,  which  lay, 
Deep  under  thy 
Fierce  Treachery : 
And  much  I  envy'd  Thee  so  sweet  a  Prey. 

Her  Virgin  Soule  soft  as  her  yeares 
A  correspondent  Body  weares  : 
ONo;  It  wore  of  late,  till  Thou 
Didst  it  betray, 
And  foundst  a  way 
To  ravish  those  pure  Sweets  which  there  did  grow. 

76 


Life 

She  had  beheld  twelve  flowry  Springs, 
And  there  a  thousand  blooming  things 
Smiling  in  genuine  braverie  ; 

But  yet  no  feild 
Profest  to  yeild 
A  Bud  or  Flower  so  soft,  &  sweet  as  Shee. 

Yet  fairer  then  her  Looks  She  was 
In  that  internall  Comelinesse 
Which  drest  her  Soule,  &  made  it  rise 
Much  faster,  then 
Her  yeares  did  run 
Like  to  some  forward  Plant  of  Paradise. 

The  Odours  that  She  breathed,  were 
Well-worthy  to  perfume  ye  Spheer 
Where  Angels  sing  :  Upon  Her  Toung 
Did  nothing  sit, 
But  what  might  fit 
Their  noble  Quire,  Some  Psalme,  or  Sacred  Song. 

All  David  was  Her  owne,  writ  deep 
In  her  soft  Heart,  which  strove  to  keep 
That  rich  Inscription  faire,  each  day 
For  feare  of  rust 
And  worldly  Dust, 
She  rubbd  it  o're,  &  swept  all  harme  away. 

Then  on  industrious  Wings  of  Love 
After  ye  Eagles  flight  She  strove 
And  soone  Shee  reach'd  no  little  part 
Of  that  highway, 
Nor  ment  to  stay 
Till  all  his  Gospell  eccho'd  in  her  Heart. 

But  oh  her  gallant  wings  are  now 
Cut  short,  &  she  flags  wondrous  low. 
Found  I  not  Her  at  highnoone  day 

In  Bed  ?  whence  Shee 
Was  wont  to  be 
Risen  before  the  Mornings  earlyest  Ray. 


77 


j  8       Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

I  found  Her  there  :  If  yet  'twere  Shee  : 
For  sure  Her  barbarous  Miserie 
Had  forraged  &  made  such  wast 
Of  all  ye  Grace 
Which  deckd  her  face 
That  from  her  owne  sweet  selfe  Shee  seemed  lost. 

Cold  Palenes  took  its  gastly  seat 
On  Her  Soft  Cheeks,  (O  how  unmeet 
For  such  a  Guest  !)  &  leaden  Night 
Gan  to  surprize 
Those  fainting  Eyes 
Which  lately  sparkled  with  a  Lovely  light. 

Her  Mouth  of  late  ye  roseall  doore 
By  which  her  purer  Soule  did  powre 
Its  Sweet  Effusions,  now  begun 

To  testifie 

Lifes  Vanitie, 
And  breath'd  aforehand  flat  Corruption. 

A  fiery  fever  to  beguile 
The  office  of  a  Funerall  Pile 
Seiz'd  on  Her,  &  had  quickly  done 
Such  Mischeife  that 
Naught  scaped,  but 
An  heap  of  bones  wrap'd  in  a  Milkie  skin. 

Oh  why  may  all  sweet  Flowrs,  but  Shee 
Prevent  this  worst  of  Miserie  ? 
The  Lilly  &  ye  Rose  when  they 
Are  stricken  so, 
Have  leave  to  goe 
And  in  their  graves  their  yet  whole  beauties  lay. 

But  this  poore  Flowre  must  live  to  see 
The  Death  of  all  her  Braverie 
And  have  no  breath  left  to  perfume 
Some  Sacred  Dittie : 
What  mighty  Pittie, 
That  onely  Sighs  should  such  deare  Blasts  consume ! 


Life  79 


Sad  Heavy  Sighs,  or  what  is  more 
Heavy  then  they,  tumultuous  store 
Of  words  as  light  as  was  ye  winde 
That  blew  them  out, 
As  being  brought 
Forth  by  an  hoodwink'd  &  abused  Minde. 

For  from  ye  Fevers  raging  Flame 
Such  fumes  &  troubled  Vapours  came, 
As  did  obstruct  ye  way  betweene 

Her  Heart  &  Braine, 
Reason  in  vaine 
Strove  to  assert  her  selfe  as  Fancies  Queene. 

Wild  Fancie  now  ye  Reines  did  guide, 
And  through  ten  thousand  by-wayes  ride, 
Where  shapeles  shapes,  &  Fantomes  strayd, 
And  all  ye  way 
More  light  then  they 
She  courted  Skaddows,  &  with  Nothings  playd. 

And  all  ye  while  her  restlesse  Toung 
Like  an  importunate  Clapper  rung, 
Ecchoing  out  ye  Antik  sound, 

Which  her  weak  Braine 
Could  not  restraine. 
Was  e'r  so  sad  a  Transformation  found ! 

Is  this  a  Sceen  of  Life,  where  Shee 
Canno  wayes  her  owne  Owner  be  ? 
But  sees  what  ever  could  be  said 
Lively  &  quick 
E'r  She  fell  sick, 
Both  in  her  robbed  Soule  &  Body  dead. 

Strange  Life  which  makes  her  onely  be 
Witnesse  to  her  owne  Miserie  : 
Which  doth  not  stop,  but  taint  her  breath : 
Which  worse  then  killing, 
Is  yet  unwilling 
To  grant  her  but  ye  Courtesie  of  Death. 


80       Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

0  Life,  some  other  Title  I 
Must  print  upon  thy  Treacherie. 
Life  is  a  Name  pure  as  ye  Day 

And  sweet  as  Light, 
But  Thou  like  Night 
To  blackest  horrors  dost  poore  Man  betray. 

All  Deaths,  but  Thou,  are  short,  if  wee 

Compare  their  close  Epitomie 

To  thy  huge  bulke  :  One  Minute  can 

Their  torments  measure, 
But  thine  take  leisure 
To  make  of  Thee  Death  in  expansion. 

A  Death,  which  lives  to  make  us  die 
So  oft  before  our  Destinie  ; 
A  Death,  which  hath  its  yeouth  &  Age, 
And  weeks  &  dayes 
And  thousand  wayes 
To  make  advantage  for  its  lasting  Rage. 

Out  Spurious  Thing.     A  place  I  know 
Where  pure  &  genuine  Life  doth  grow  : 
A  Life,  which  lives  ;  A  Life  most  true 
To  its  great  Name, 
Whose  noble  Flame 
Forever  burnes,  yet  keeps  forever  new. 

A  life,  which  unacquainted  is 
With  Paines,  &  Sighs,  &  Sicknesses ; 
A  Life,  which  doth  no  fever  feele 
Unlesse  it  be 
The  Ardencie 
Of  Heavnly  Love ;  a  Sicknesse,  wch  doth  heale. 

A  Life,  which  wth  Eternitie 
Doth  in  its  Noble  date  agree  : 
A  Life,  whose  foot  tramples  ye  Head 
Of  all  y*  wee 
Still  changing  see, 
A  Life,  yl  lives  when  every  Death  is  dead. 


Life  8 1 

A  Life  that  streameth  from  those  Eyes, 
Whose  beams  embellish  all  ye  skies ; 
The  Eyes  of  Joy,  ye  Eyes  of  Love 

Thine  Eyes  Dear  Lord 

Which  doe  afford 
What  ever  maketh  Heavn  to  be  above. 

No  hopes  have  I  to  live,  untill 

My  Soule  in  Thee  doth  take  her  fill, 

And  from  these  Shades  of  Death  doth  flie 

To  meet  those  Streames 

Of  Living  Beames, 
Whose  everlasting  East  is  in  thine  Eye. 

DEARE  JESU,  when,  when  will  it  bee  ! 
How  long  is  this  short  Life  to  Mee, 
Which  mocks  Me  thus !     O  when  shall  I 
(Peace  fond  Temptations 
Of  carnall  Passions.) 
Have  leave  to  end  this  living  Death,  &  die ! 

Faine  would  I  die  •  but  first  be  dead ; 
Dead  to  those  Sins,  which  murdered 
Thee  on  thy  Crosse,  &  which  would  doe 
The  like  to  Me, 
Unlesse  they  be 
Well  mortify'd  before  I  hence  doe  goe. 

O  who  can  slay  all  them  for  Me, 

But  thy  propitious  Potencie, 

Which  hath  no  other  foes,  but  those  ! 

Tis  Sin,  &  none 

But  Sin  alone 
Which  warrs  with  Man,  &  which  doth  God  oppose. 

O  then  revenge  thy  Selfe,  yl  I 
May  conquer  by  Communitie 
Of  Cause  with  Thee  :  some  Succour  give 

That  I  may  bee 

Set  safe  &  free 
From  this  intestine  Warre,  &  I  shall  Live. 


Natalitium 

Martij  13,  1643. 

WHAT  rash  &  hasty  Things  are yeares,  wch  run 
So  fast  upon  their  ruine !     To  arrive 
At  their  owne  Races  end,  is  to  be  gone 
Quite  into  Nothing,  never  to  survive. 
Poore  I  whose  Life  is  much  lesse  then  a  Span, 
And  vainer  then  a  Dream,  am  yet  alive, 

Whilst  eight  &  twenty  long  &  tedious  yeares 
Have  lost  themselves  upon  ye  whirling  Spheares. 

I'v  liv'd  thus  long  said  I  ?     Let  me  unspeak 
That  Word,  more  hasty  &  more  rash  by  far 
Then  all  those  posting  yeares :  If  I  must  make 
A  true  confession  what  my  Fortunes  are, 
I  must  leave  Life  to  such  as  Live,  and  take 
With  dull  unworthy  Things  my  proper  Share. 

A  Thing  within  tells  me  theres  no  denying ; 

I  have  these  eight  &  twenty  yeares  been  Dying. 

When  to  this  lingring  Death  I  first  was  borne 
All  tainted  with  a  deep  annealed  staine, 
Helplesse  I  lay,  &  utterly  forlorne ; 
Untill  my  better  Mother  did  Me  deigne 
Her  tender  Bosome,  &  to  drowne  ye  Scorne 
With  which  my  loathsome  Birth  did  strive  in  vaine, 
Deep  drenched  me  in  a  heavnly  Fount,  whence  I 
Rose  faire  as  new  borne  Light  from  Easterne  Skie. 
82 


Natalitium  8  3 


My  timely  Grave  oh  could  I  then  have  found, 

I  might  have  filld  with  unspotted  Dust. 

But  now  I  shall  pollute  whatever  ground 

Must  hide  these  Corps,  o're  grown  wth  sinfull  Rust. 

Sure  my  black  sea  of  Crimes  long  since  hath  drown'd 

Whatever  is  in  Mee,  but  my  bare  Trust 

In  Him,  who  as  He  bounds  all  seas  beside, 
Lo  can  He  tame  my  Crimes  high  swelling  Tide. 

What  Kind  of  Sceen  My  Childhood  was,  nor  I 
Can  rightly  judge,  nor  wiser  Heads  can  say. 
Our  tender  yeares  are  a  young  Mysterie, 
The  doubtfull  Twi-light  of  a  future  Day : 
The  Soule  seems  then  scarcely  arriv'd  so  high 
As  ye  Horizon  :  onely  some  weak  Ray 

Steps  out  before  Her,  which  may  serve  to  be 

A  Signe  &  Item  of  Humanitie. 

But  ye  next  Act  Spectators  well  might  see 
How  strange  a  part  my  Soule  was  like  to  play. 
Young  Crossnesse  when  it  gets  Maturitie 
May  prove  Rebellion  :  Who  grieves  to  obey 
Small,  petty  Precepts,  with  lesse  ease  will  be 
Pliant  to  great  Commands  :  Another  Day 

This  Urchin  which  kicks  at  his  Parents  now, 
Gods  more  restrayning  Yoak  away  may  throw. 

The  Rod  at  home  drave  Me  to  school,  &  that 
At  School  to  Study  when  I  thither  came. 
There  like  a  Slave  I  wrought,  &  when  I  gott 
License  to  play,  though  at  some  toilesome  game 
As  from  some  Gally-chaines,  or  Dungeons  grott 
Me  thought  I  rescu'd  was :  And  then  ye  same 
Day,  which  six  houres  before  was  long  &  slow 
Seem'd  to  get  Wings,  &  much  too  fast  to  goe. 

Th'  importunate  Drops  at  length  some  impresse  made 

Upon  my  stony  Intellect,  &  I 

Was  put  Apprentice  to  ye  Bookish  Trade 

At  full  fifteene  ith'  Universitie. 


84       Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

Where  captiv'd  in  a  Gowne,  under  ye  shade 

Of  thousand  leaves  I  sate,  and  by 

The  losse  of  almost  all  ye  Time  since  then 
Have  learned  to  be  ye  foolishest  of  Men. 

My  itching  mind  proudly  desir'd  to  prie 
Into  whatever  Learnings  Title  wore. 
With  unfledgd  Wings  I  often  towred  high, 
And  snatch'd  at  things  above  my  pitch,  before 
I  had  sure  hold  of  what  beneath  did  lie. 
Yet  on  I  ventur'd  still,  &  caught  at  more ; 
I  caught  ye  Wind  of  Words,  wch  by  a  Blast 
Of  following  Notions  soon  away  were  past. 

At  length  I  learn'd,  &  sure  my  Tutor  was 

Th'  ETERNALL  WISDOME,  well  to  rest  content 

With  shallow  knowledge  of  such  Objects,  as 

Can  never  blesse  their  Knower  :  Complement 

And  Ceremonious  Learning  I  let  passe 

To  guild  their  Crest,  who  make  Applause  their  bent 

Ambitious  onely  not  to  be  a  foole 

In  that,  wch  Saints  and  Angells  draws  to  Schoole. 

Mee  thought  I  felt  some  heats  of  Noble  Love, 
And  saw  such  glances  of  my  Spouses  face, 
As  rap'd  my  heart,  &  set  it  far  above 
The  Blandishments  of  any  Mortall  grace. 
But  soone  grown  chill,  degenerous  did  I  prove 
And  lost  ye  credit  of  that  loftie  place. 

Thus  ye  vaine  Meteor,  though  exhaled  farr 
In  hopes  of  Heavn,  proves  but  a  falling  Starr. 

But  yet  ye  Starrs  fall  downe  but  once ;  whilst  my 
Repeated  falls  in  number  far  surpasse 
The  Starrs  all  muster'd  in  ye  clearest  skie, 
And  every  Fall  so  bruiseth  Me,  alas, 
That  in  my  Heart  you  easily  may  descrie 
Ten  thousand  all-black  spots,  whose  hideous  face 
Outlooks  those  few  weak  sparks  wch  did  remaine, 
And  wth  a  fatall  Night  my  Soule  did  staine. 


Natalitium  8  5 


This  makes  my  blinded  Mind  to  waver  still 

In  Matters  of  eternall  Consequence  ; 

Which  well  I  find  doe  far  exceed  ye  skill 

Of  Sinners  to  discerne,  whose  hoodwink'd  sense 

Gropes  but  in  things,  whose  grosser  bulk  can  fill 

An  hand  of  earth.     None  but  thy  influence 

Can  guide  my  feet  from  wandring  thus  astray, 
Who  art  thy  Selfe  ye  Candle,  &  ye  Way. 

0  guide  Me  thou,  Deare  Lord,  who  in  my  Heart 
Dost  read  a  simple  &  unfain'd  Desire 

To  follow  Truth  &  Thee  :  I  would  not  start 
For  all  this  World  from  either,  nor  aspire 
To  any  Glory,  but  ye  meanest  part 
In  thy  Sweet  Love,  which  will  exalt  me  higher 
Then  alt  these  lying  baits,  that  us  invite 
In  Dreames  &  painted  Nothings  to  delight. 

Let  not  my  folly  make  me  seem  more  wise 
Then  thy  Unerring  Spouse,  in  whose  Sweet  Breast 
Thine  owne  Deare  Spirit,  ye  Spirit  of  Wisdome  lies, 
As  Thou  dost  in  thy  Fathers  Bosome  rest. 

1  shall  be  learn'd  enough,  if  I  can  prize 
Humble  obedient  Knowledge  as  ye  best. 

If  I  can  understand  but  how  to  be 

A  genuine  Member  of  thy  Church  &  Thee. 

So  shall  I  be  content ;  though  more  sad  yeares 
Still  keep  Me  Prisoner  heere ;  though  furious  Warre 
On  every  Minute  heaps  a  thousand  feares, 
And  does  all  Comfort,  &  all  Hopes  debarre, 
But  what  in  Thy  all-sweetning  Face  appeares. 
If  Thy  propitious  Eye  will  be  my  Starre 

No  Tempest  shall  deterre  me,  for  no  Sea 
Can  swell  so  high,  as  is  thy  Heavn,  &  Thee. 


Anniversarium  Baptismi 

Marti j  21. 


w 


ELCOME  sweet  &  happy  Day : 
O  let  me  pay 
In  thy  blest  Light  ye  debt  I  owe 
The  Fount,  from  which  my  better  life  doth  flow. 


The  Fount,  which  sprung  from  ye  dear  side 

Of  Him,  who  dyde 
To  leave  a  truer  Life  to  mee 
Then  I  could  draw  from  my  Nativitie. 

For  I  was  borne  a  Dying  Thing : 

The  Serpents  sting 
Through  all  ye  World  yl  went  before 
Reach'd  my  poor  Heart,  &  poysned  it  all  o're. 

Untill  ye  liquid  Life,  which  swimms 
About  ye  brimms 
Of  ye  Baptismall  Laver  did 
Upon  my  Soule  pure  health  &  vigor  shed. 

Death  soone  was  drownd,  &  ye  great  weight 

Of  Sin  was  strait 
Sunk  to  ye  bottome,  onely  I 
Rose  up,  &  liv'd  a  Life,  which  could  not  die. 

86 


Anniversarium  Baptismi  87 

It  could  not  die,  had  I  not  been 

The  treacherous  Mean 
To  murder  it :  Adam  doth  slay  Us 
At  first,  but  then  none  but  our  Selves  betray  Us. 

Pardon  for  this  selfe-felonie 

I  beg  of  Thee 
Who  sheddst  a  rubie  stream  to  heale 
Those  second  Wounds,  my  fainting  Soule  doth  feele. 

So  by  thy  Water  &  thy  Blood 

That  double  Flood 
Of  Mercie,  may  my  Heart  swimme  home 
And  to  ye  Ocean  of  thy  Glorie  come. 

Mean  time  upon  this  Dayes  fair  face, 
By  thy  Sweet  Grace 
This  Vow  I  fix  :  NO  MORE  WILL  I 
WHO  SERVE  TRUTH1  S  POTENT  MASTER  TELL 
A  LIE. 


I 


The  Fashion 

LIKEWISE  might  inamour'd  be 
Of  it,  ye  Fashion,  could  I  see 
But  what  it  is,  &  how 
It  comes  to  grow, 
But  (like  ye  Phantomes  of  a  troubled  Head) 
Before  tis  finishd,  tis  quite  vanished. 

But  if  it  bred  &  borne  doth  seeme 
In  a  fond  antik  Taylors  dreame, 

It  makes  me  wonder  much 
How  any  such 
Unworthy  spurious  Brat  should  owned  be 
By  those,  who  scorne  so  vile  a  Pedigree : 

That  Bodies  of  a  comely  Look 

A  METAMORPHOSIS  can  brook 

From  SHEERS  &  NEEDLE,  and 
Be  at  command 
Of  every  gew  gaw  fancie,  that  they  meet 
'Mongst  other  Butter-flies  about  ye  Street. 

Search  not  for  Substance,  for  ye  Fashion 
Is  Nothing  else  but  Variation. 

And  therefore  Nothing.     Yet 
So  strong  is  it 
That  ev'n  this  skin  of  Vanitie  alone 
Makes  in  a  yeare  an  hundred  Men  of  One. 
88 


The   Fashion  89 


Nor  must  you  aske  a  Reason  why 
Some  Garbs  professe  Deformitie  : 
It  is  enough  if  they 
Can  plead  &  say, 
Wee  are  ye  newest  Cut :  the  ugliest  dresse 
Trimm'd  wth  ye  Name  of  Fashion,  beauteous  is. 

Thus  Those  whom  Gods  owne  Hand  had  drest 
All  In  a  Fashion  of  ye  best, 

Are  busied  every  day 
'Frying  how  they 
By  jaggs  and  cutts,  &  restlesse  Mending  can 
Better  His  work,  &  make  a  comelyer  Man. 

And  why,  alas,  must  Pride  &  Wee 
Thus  Make  our  poor  Mortalitie 

More  Mortall  then  at  first 
When  it  was  curs'd  ? 
Was't  not  enough  that  one  great  Change  We  had 
But  We  must  endlesse  Transmutations  add  ? 

Could  We  ever  think  We  were 
But  Fine  enough,  We  would  forbeare 
At  last,  &  rest  in  one 

Rich  Garb  ;  but  none 
Can  satisfie  Prides  Wanton  affectation ; 
Tis  one  great  Fashion,  still  to  change  ye  Fashion. 

Who  for  a  week  together  is 
But  like  Him  selfe  can  hardly  misse 
The  slander  of  a  Clown  : 
We  scorne  to  own 
The  Looks  of  Constancie,  nor  will  We  be 
Gentile,  but  by  perpetuall  Vanitie. 

Could  our  Forefathers  cast  their  eye 
But  on  their  gallant  Progeny, 

Sure  They  would  wonder  how 
Our  Isle  could  show 
So  many  forreine  Nations,  whose  Array 
Such  antik  far-fetch'd  difference  doth  display. 


90       Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

Our  Ancestors,  from  whose  long  Storie 
We  gild  our  Selves  with  burrowed  glorie, 

Should  they  but  now  come  neere 
Our  Presence  heere 
The  Porter  would  be  chid  for  his  foule  Sin, 
Letting  such  country  rusty  Hindes  come  in. 

Wer't  not  as  generous  to  agree, 
That  everie  Fashions  standard  be 
Erected  fair  &  high 

To  each  Mans  Ey  ? 
And  this  DECORUM  is,  which  best  can  tell 
Both  Sordidnesse,  &  wanton  Pride  to  quell. 

Were  not  all  fine  enough,  if  Place 
And  Birth  defin'd  our  Habits  Grace  ? 

For  why  should  Men  contend 
Still  to  ascend 
Above  them  selves  in  Clothes,  &  guilty  be 
Both  of  a  vaine,  &  dear  selfe-mockerie  ? 

At  least  now  Antik  Wit  &  Pride 
So  many  thousand  Waves  have  try'd ; 
Let  it  Concluded  be 
What  Fashion  We 
Must  count  yc  best :  Which  if  We  may  have  leave, 
That,  &  no  other  Fashion  Wee'l  receive. 


,ove 


w 


HEN  LOVE 

Had  strove 
Us  to  subdue, 

Whose  Crime 
With  Time 
Still  bolder  grew ; 
Though  Yee 
Said  Hee, 
Will  still 
Rebell, 
Yet  I 
Reveng'd  will  bee, 
Sufficientlie 
Upon  my  Selfe  for  You,  &  die. 

When  LOVE 

Was  wove 
And  ty'd  about 

His  Crosse 

So  close 
That  it  forc'd  out 

A  Flood 

Of  Blood ; 

I  would 

I  could, 

Sayes  He, 
Forever  bleed, 
So  They  who  need 
This  Blood,  would  fill  their  Cup  from  Mee. 

9i 


92       Poems  of  Joseph   Beaumont 

When  LOVE 

Above 
Went  up  to  sit 

Upon 

His  Throne, 
He  rain'd  from  it 

Whole  Streames 

Of  Flames 

On  Those 

He  Chose 
To  goe 

To  every  Place 

Under  Heavens  Face 
And  there  Love's  fierie  businesse  doe. 

When  LOVE 

Doth  move 
His  sparkling  Eye 

This  way 

We  may 
In  it  descry 

A  Light 

More  bright 

Then  Day's 

Best  Rayes, 
Wherby 
Our  Hearts,  although 
Chill  untill  now, 
Conceive  an  Holy  Fervencie. 

When  LOVE 

To  prove 
His  noble  Art, 

His  Bow 

Doth  draw 
Against  an  Heart ; 

Alwayes 

He  slayes 

With  Wound 

Profound, 


Love  93 


But  still 
The  Deaths  they  give 
Doe  make  Us  live 
A  sweeter  Life,  then  that  they  spill. 

When  LOVE 

A  Grove 
Had  sought,  wherin 

He  might 

Delight 
With  Soules  of  Men, 

No  Trees 

Could  please 

His  Will, 

Untill 

He  spyd 
Faire  Paradise, 
And  heere,  He  cryes, 
My  lovely  Spouses  shall  abide. 


Loves  Monarchie 


o 


MIGHTY  LOVE, 
Thou  Universal!  Life  &  Soule 
Whose  Powers  doe  move 
And  reigne  alone  from  Pole  to  Pole, 
Give  Me  thy  Worthlesse  Subject  leave  to  sing 
My  due  Allegiance  to  ye  Worlds  Sweet  King. 

Let  other  Muses 
Goe  court  ye  Wanton  Mysterie 

Of  lewd  abuses 
Into  a  young  Spruce  Deitie : 
Mine  does  no  homage  owe,  but  unto  Thee, 
Who,  whilst  ye  other's  blind,  do'st  all  Things  see. 

And  sweetly  by 
That  golden  Tide  of  Flames  which  flow 


Forth  from  thine  eye, 
The  Universe  do'st  garnish  so 
That  Sacrilege  looks  out  at  every  eye 
Which  into  Thine  its  Wondring  doth  deny. 

Those  glorious  Flames, 
In  which  ye  Quire  above  doth  shine 

Kindle  ye  Beames 
Of  all  their  Braverie  at  thine : 
Thou  art  That  LOVE,  whose  heat  together  ties 
The  Brotherhood  of  Heavns  fair  Hierarchies. 
94 


Loves  Monarchic  95 

Thou  at  ye  first 
Into  ye  Sphears  that  warmth  didst  breath 

Which  since  hath  nurst 
And  fostered  all  Things  beneath. 
The  Heavns  hug  this  our  World,  because  thy  Arme 
By  its  Supreeme  imbraces  keeps  them  warme. 

By  heat  from  Thee 
The  Elements  doe  kindly  move  : 

Ev'n  Fire  would  be 
A  cold  dead  thing,  but  for  thy  love : 
But  Thou  to  Wedlock  drawst  them  all,  untill 
With  Procreations  they  ye  yeare  doe  fill. 

No  Southerne  Wind 
Or  Westerne  Gale  blows  on  ye  Springs ; 

Onely  thy  kind 
And  teeming  Look  new  verdure  brings  : 
The  Sun,  because  Thou  send'st  Him,  neerer  comes, 
And  wakes  cold  Roots  into  their  warmer  Blooms. 

Nature  could  not 
In  every  Creatures  Tribe  &  kind 

Duely  grow  hot 
With  fruitfull  Flames,  lesse  Thine  be  joyn'd 
To  teach  them  Life ;  All  Births  from  Thee  alone 
Doe  grow,  Who  art  Eternities  great  Sonne. 

Increase,  saidst  Thou, 
At  first,  &  Multiplie  :  with  force 

That  word  did  goe, 
And  through  ye  World  maintaine  its  course ; 
Where  still  it  springs,  &  shall  forever  rise, 
Till  weary  Time  it  selfe  growes  faint  &  dies. 

These  honest  are 
And  genuine  Fires :  but  those,  whose  flames 

Blush  to  appeare, 
Unlesse  array'd  in  borrowed  Names, 
Flow  not  from  Thee  :  LUSTS  stink,  &  Looks  doe  tell 
That  when  most  trimme,  She's  but  dissembled  Hell. 


- 


96        Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

The  Law  of  Nations 
That  Catholik  Glue,  which  strongly  bindes 
U  The  widest  Passions 

Of  most  discordant  distant  Mindes, 
Streames  from  thy  liberall  Love,  which  breathed  then 
This  Humane  Rule,  when  first  it  breathed  Man. 

That  Countries  can 
Their  single  scattred  Might  congest 

Into  one  Man, 
And  crowne  it  there ;  is  not  ye  least 
Reflection  of  thy  loving  Monarchic, 
In  whom  all  Powers  are  Freinds,  &  well  agree. 

They  who  know  how 
To  marry  Soules,  &  make  up  one 

Bosome  of  two 
Work  by  no  Charme,  but  thine  alone ; 
That  Harmonie  of  Genius,  which  doth  joine 
All  other  Friends  ye  Eccho  is  of  thine. 

The  mutuall  Tide 
Of  filiall  &  parentall  love, 

Which  swells  so  wide 
That  all  ye  World  in  it  does  move, 
Is  but  a  drop  of  that  delicious  Sea 
Whose  boundlesse  Deeps  ly  treasur'd  up  in  Thee. 

But  yet  of  all 
Thy  mighty  Powers,  none  may  compare 

With  those  which  fall 
Upon  soft  yeilding  Hearts,  and  Beare 
Them  Captives  after  Thee,  to  fill  ye  Traine 
Of  those  sweet  Conquests  Thou  on  Earth  dost  gaine. 

Oh  how  Compleat 
Is  thy  Dominion  in  a  Breast 

Which  joyes  to  meet 
And  kisse  thy  Scepter,  which  can  cast 
It  selfe  away  on  Thee,  and  scorne  to  live, 
But  by  that  Life  thy  blessed  Eyes  doe  give ! 


Loves  Monarchic  97 


For  from  thine  Eye 
It  dayly  drinks  those  living  Flames 

Of  Heavn,  wherby 
Deliciously  it  breath's,  &  frames 
All  its  Deportments  by  that  golden  Book, 
Whose  Rules  it  reads  in  thy  Majestik  Look. 

And  heere  dost  Thou 
Display  thine  absolute  Monarchic, 

And  not  allow 
The  conquer'd  Heart  its  owne  to  bee. 
5Tis  not  its  owne :  And  yet  by  being  Thine 
'Tis  more  its  owne,  then  if  it  still  were  mine. 

Mine,  did  I  say? 
The  ready  Rhime  made  me  too  bold  : 

Such  Hearts  as  they 
Were  those,  which  warm'd  brave  Breasts  of  old 
In  ye  fresh  Spring  of  Pietie  :  But  I 
In  their  chill  lanquid  Age,  all  frozen  lie. 


P 


And  yet  this  Ice 
May  capable  of  thawing  bee 
If  Thy  pure  Eyes 
Will  glance  their  potent  beames  on  Me. 
Forbid  it,  mighty  King  of Hearts ',  that  my 
Poore  Soule  should  not  obey  LOVES  MONARCHIE. 


The  Heart 


MEE  !  My  enigmatik  Heart 
How  far  am  I  from  understanding  Thee, 
Although  thy  first  &  cheifest  part 
Nothing  but  mine  owne  Understanding  bee  ! 


o 


Me  thought  Thou  wert  on  Sunday  last 
Deeply  in  love  wth  LovJs  Heartwinning  King, 

When  Thou  didst  prudently  forecast 
A  Wreath  of  Virtues  for  thy  Marriage  Ring. 

And  what  was  that  Inchantment  Thou 
In  this  bewitching  World  of  Lies  didst  see  ? 

How  did  it  dimme  thy  Sight,  &  through 
A  cheating  Glasse  make  Heavn  seem  dark  to  Thee  ? 

Heavn  seemed  black,  but  Earth  so  bright 
That  Thou  with  fond  Desires  didst  court  &  woo  it  : 

Forgot  vrzs/esus,  whose  sweet  light 
Draws  all  ye  Seraphs  wondring  eyes  unto  it. 

What  hast  Thou  gain'd  Apostate  Thing, 
What  Joyes  in  thy  new  Love  dost  Thou  imbrace  ? 

Whose  every  Part's  a  gilded  Sting, 
A  Death  dissembled  by  an  handsome  face. 

How  shall  I  be  reveng^  !  For  I 
Cannot  digest  thus  to  be  wrong'd  by  Thee : 

Must  I  indure  that  Thou,  &  Thy 
Foule  treacherie  shall  part  my  God  &  Mee  ? 

98 


The  Heart  99 


Did  I  consent !     How  could  it  bee  ? 
My  Lord,  My  Love,  my  Joy,  my  Happinesse 

My  Refuge  Jesus  is,  &  Hee 
Can  never  changed  be  from  what  He  is. 

Surely  'twas  onely  Thou,  and  thy 
Besotted  Passion  w0*1  did  Me  betray, 

And  as  I  slept  awhile,  did  by 
Foule  theft  me  from  my  Spouse  remove  away. 

Alas  what  maze  is  this,  wherin 
I  snarled  am !     Dwells  there  one  Heart  alone 

In  this  poor  Breast ;  or  do  I  'gin 
Not  to  be  I,  but  two  strange  Things  in  one  ? 

I  did,  yet  I  did  not  consent : 
No  reason  why  I  should ;  and  yet  I  did : 

No  I  did  not :  I  never  ment 
My  Jesus  should  from  Me  be  severed  : 

0  Mee !  I  am  confounded  quite, 
Enforc'd  wth  mine  owne  Heart  to  disagree. 

Jesu}  Thou  knowest  me  aright, 
My  Heart  is  not  so  dear  as  Thou  to  Mee. 

How  knotty  is  my  Miserie, 
Who  must  mine  owne  Heart  from  my  Bosome  teare, 

Or  from  y*  Mansion  drive  out  Thee, 
Who  hast  best  Title  to  inhabit  there  ? 

Deare  Lord  of  Love,  I  cannot  live 
With  this  untoward  traiterous  Heart  of  mine  : 

If  Thou  wilt  Me  a  New  one  give, 
Thou  shalt  partake,  it  shall  be  mine  &  Thine : 

Or  rather  Thine,  and  onely  Thine : 
For  I'm  not  to  be  trusted  with  an  Heart ; 

1  kept  not  that,  wch  once  was  mine, 
But  Thou  both  carefull,  &  Almighty  art. 


ioo     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

Regard  thy  Worme,  wch  heer  lies  spread 
Upon  thy  Footstoole,  sighing  out  his  paine : 

O  tread  not  on  his  worthlesse  Head, 
But  Life  into  ye  Dust  breathe  once  againe. 


Conscience 


TREASON  Dread  Soveraigne,  Treason  I  discover 
And  can  produce  ye  Traitor  too ; 
My  bosome  works  and  boileth  so, 
I  cannot  stop  my  Crie  from  running  over. 

I  know  ye  Man  (if  so  his  treacherous  Sin 

Blots  not  that  faire  ingenuous  Name) 
Who  lately  to  a  Parlie  came 

With  Thee,  &  learn'd  by  yeilding,  how  to  win. 

He  yeilded  to  thy  Mercie,  &  therby 

Happily  won  Himselfe ;  and  Thee  ; 
Thou  wert  His  Captive,  He  was  free, 

And  might  have  been  so  to  Eternitie. 

But  from  ye  freedome  of  thy  service  Hee, 

Proud  foole,  and  Traytor  as  he  was, 
Soone  after  did  desire  to  passe, 

And  reinslave  him  selfe  to  Vanitie. 

O  hasten  to  reduce  him,  lest  he  grow 

A  sturdie  Rebell :  now  his  Crime 
Is  young  &  greene,  take  him  in  time, 

And  one  sweet  Conquest  more  on  him  bestow. 

Loe  in  thy  presence  heere  He  is,  nor  can 

I  him  conceale ;  loe  heere  he  lies 
Press'd  downe  with  his  Iniquities ; 

O  look  this  way :  Alas,  I  am  the  Man. 

IOI 


Will 


HAD  I  my  Will,  I  would — .     And  what 
Would  ye  Wretch  doe  had  he  his  will  ? 
Why  then  I  would  not  have  it,  that 
I  might  be  sure  to  keep  it  still. 

Alas,  I  have  it  not ;  my  vaine 
Affections  doe  it  posesse  : 
Indeed  they  keep  it  in  a  chaine 
Of  seeming  silk  &  tendernesse. 

But  oh  they  pull  &  hale  it  to 
Objects  so  ougly  and  so  vile, 
That  whilst  perforce  I  forward  goe, 
Frighted  I  start,  &  back  recoile. 

Sometimes  I  courage  take  &  crie, 
Foule  Rebells,  know  you  what  you  doe  ? 
My  Will  is  your  Liege  Lord,  &  I 
Unlesse  I  will,  will  never  goe. 

But  then  they  gently  fawne  &  smile, 
And  with  soft  charmes  cast  me  asleep. 
By  which  delitious  potent  guile 
Still  their  Usurped  power  they  keep. 

Thus  like  a  royall  cheated  slave 
I  hold  ye  Empire  of  my  Will ; 
That  Others  Hands  my  sword  may  have, 
And  when  they  please,  their  Soveraigne  kill. 
102 


Will  103 

But  oh  had  I  my  Will  indeed, 
How  would  I  reigne  at  home  in  State ! 
Wth  noblest  Pleasures  would  I  feed 
All  my  Desires,  &  feed  them  fat. 

My  Subjects  all  I  would  command, 
And  instantly  obeyed  be  j 
My  Faculties  should  ready  stand 
Attending  on  my  Majestic 

Anger  should  wage  my  Warrs,  &  fight 
Against  my  Rebell  Lusts,  which  now 
Upon  my  weaknes  vent  their  spight, 
And  chaine  me  downe  to  things  below. 

Then  LOVE  upon  his  gallant  wing 
My  weighty  Embassie  should  beare 
And  deale  wth  Heav'ns  Almighty  King 
About  my  Suit  depending  there. 

That  Suit  concernes  a  Match  wth  my 
Deare  Spouse,  ye,  Prince  of  Sweetnes,  who 
Long  since  has  had  my  Heart,  &  I 
Would  fain  this  businesse  on  might  goe. 

Had  I  my  Will,  it  should  goe  on ; 
But  then  I  would  not  have  my  Will : 
Dear  Lord  it  should  be  Thine  alone, 
And  so  my  best  Desires  fullfill. 

Had  I  my  Will,  I  would  resigne 

It  into  Thine,  &  change  with  Thee, 

So  from  mine  owne,  I  would  gaine  Thine, 

And  then  mine  owne  mine  owne  should  be. 


The  Net 


DEAR  Jesu,  oh  how  carefull  is  Thy  Love, 
Which  meets  me  every  where ! 
Into  ye  Feild  no  sooner  did  I  move, 

But  it  was  ready  there. 
Ready  to  use,  &  catch  me  in  that  Net, 
A  Fowler  there  by  chance,  for  Birds  had  set. 

I  heard  ye  Fowler,  &  his  brac'd  Decoyes 

Stretch  their  alluring  voice ; 

Which  when  ye  unsuspitious  Birds  did  heare, 

They  sporting  flutter'd  neere ; 

This  was  enough ;  up  flew  ye  Net  &  they 

Fell  downe  as  fast,  ye  greedy  Fowlers  prey. 

Had  they  still  kept  aloft  in  their  pure  spheare, 

And  sung  their  Vespers  there, 

They  might  have  sup'd  in  quiet,  &  have  gone 
Safely  to  roost  anon. 

But  gadding  wantonly  too  neere  ye  ground, 

Onely  ye  way  into  their  grave  they  found. 

Take  warning  then  my  Heart :  this  Earth  below 

All  thick  with  snares  doth  grow. 

This  Net  hath  caught  Me,  &  convinc'd  me  so 

That  there's  no  saying  No. 

If  Hearts  but  hover  neere  ye  Dust,  straitway 

The  Serpent,  that  dwells  there,  makes  them  his  prey. 
104 


The  Net  105 


Discredit  not  those  active  Wings  of  thine, 

Whose  flight  should  be  divine. 

The  Region  of  thy  busines  is  above, 

In  ye  cleare  Orbe  of  Love, 

Where  Thou  with  Birds  of  Paradise  mayst  sing 

And  on  ye  Tree  of  Life  mayst  rest  thy  Wing. 


Faith 


ILLUSTRIOUS  Mayd,  what  foule  Idolatrie 
Grows  big  &  impudent  under  thy  faire  Name ! 
Yea  They,  whose  throats  stretch'd  wth  loud  Zeale,  decry 
Ev'n  harmlesse  Usefull  Pictures,  are  ye  same 
Double-fac'd  Men,  whose  bold  hypocrisie 
One  Idoll  makes  for  all,  &  sets  up  Thee. 

They  set  Thee  up,  &  then  they  hold  Thee  fast, 
Lest  left  unto  thy  Selfe  Thou  tumble  downe : 
Faire  Hands,  &  Armes  (but  not  their  use)  Thou  hast 
For  they,  as  Thou  thy  selfe,  are  not  thine  owne : 

Two  feet  they  give  Thee,  but  not  one  to  goe ; 

Was  ever  Heathen  God  more  stock  then  so ! 

Yet  in  this  Stock  they  put  their  desperate  trust, 

To  yeild  them  Life  immortall  when  they  die. 

Besotted  Soules,  ev'n  your  owne  mouldring  Dust 

Is  lesse  of  kin  unto  Mortalitie 

Then  this  vaine  God,  who  surely  cannot  give 
Life  unto  you,  unlesse  it  selfe  did  live. 

How  often  has  it  falln,  &  broken  layn 

Before  ye  Ark  of  Truth  !  oh  wast  no  more 

Your  Arguments  to  naile  it  up  againe, 

And  fit  it  for  new  falls  :  upon  ye  floore 
All  broken  as  it  is,  still  let  it  ly  : 
Better  that  rot,  then  you  its  Makers  dy. 
106 


Faith  107 


And  rot  it  will.     But  genuine  Faith  doth  lead 

A  brisk  &  active  Life,  a  Life  of  Fire  : 

For  Love  Her  Brother  is,  &  that  pure  Breed 

With  restlesse  action  all  to  Heavn  aspire ; 

No  Flames  wth  more  unwearied  fervencie 
Heave  up  their  labouring  hands  to  reach  ye  skie. 

When  e'r  Shee  comes  abroad,  close  by  her  side* 
To  keep  her  warme,  her  sparkling  Brother  goes ; 
And  then  her  bounteous  Armes  spread  far  &  wide 
Let  none  escape  her,  whither  Friends  or  Foes. 

Her  Rule  is,  AU\  &  by  none  else  will  Shee 

Frame  ye  dimensions  of  her  Pietie. 

She  alwayes  busy  is  with  hand  &  Heart 

To  help  her  Followers  in  at  Heavns  strait  Gate : 

Nor  ever  failes  Shee  to  performe  her  part, 

Unlesse  they  lagg  &  tire,  &  come  too  late. 

If  this  Gate  once  be  shut,  Faith  must  not  hope 
Though  She  could  Mountaines  move,  to  thrust  it  ope. 

Through  all  ye  billows  of  this  working  Sea, 
This  Life  of  Waves  &  Tempests,  She  doth  guide 
Our  tender  crazie  bark ;  y4  safely  We 
Past  ye  huge  rocks  of  black  Despaire  may  ride. 

In  vaine  ye  winds  conspire  lowd  war  to  wage ; 

Cast  anchor,  HOPE,  says  She,  &  let  them  rage  ! 

The  Church  &  Sacrament  She  doth  frequent, 
But  cares  not  greatly  for  ye  Subtile  Schoole ; 
Humilitie's  her  Wisdome  :  She's  content 
Though  saucy  Syllogismes  conclude  her  foole. 
Logik  has  no  such  reason  to  despise 
This  simple  Maid,  could  it  but  use  its  eyes : 

For  at  Her  conquering  feet  it  might  descry 

Whole  Legions  of  venturous  Arguments 

Disarm'd,  &  trampled  downe :  No  Heresy 

Did  e'r  rebell  against  Her,  but  repents, 

And  there  confesses,  that  what  ever  were 
Their  Premises,  Conclusions  make  for  Her. 


108     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

The  Scepter  that  She  beares,  though  rude  &  plaine, 
Yet  strikes  this  terror  through  Her  proudest  foes ; 
It  is  of  Wood,  wth  Blood  all  dye'd  in  graine 
A  downright  Crosse,  not  unto  her,  but  those 

That  dare  both  Her  &  It.     Doe  you  not  see 
How  at  its  Shadows  they  incensed  bee  ? 

Though  Shee  be  strong  &  mighty,  She  doth  love 
Calme  gentile  Peace,  &  humble  Patience  : 
No  grudgings,  jealousies,  or  wrongs  can  move 
Her  to  oppose  superior  violence : 

For  when  to  Tyrants  Shee  her  neck  layes  downe, 
Tis  onely  that  their  Hands  her  Head  may  crowne. 

Be  Princes  Monsters,  if  they  will,  says  Shee, 
What's  that  to  Me  ?     A  Lamb  my  Soveraigne  is  ; 
Though  in  his  Hand  there  dwelt  all  Potencie, 
He  ne'r  drew  Sword  against  ye  wickednes 

Of  authorized  Men,  or  claim'd  from  them 
Their  Power,  as  forfeit,  by  their  sin,  to  Him. 

O  Sacred  Maid,  for  ever  cursed  be 

Heretik  &  scismatik  violence, 

Which  labour  to  deflow'r  thy  Puritie. 

My  Heart's  too  vile  to  be  thy  Residence ; 

But  Thou  art  meek  &  kind,  &  wilt  not  scorne 
To  make  a  Soule  grow  faire,  which  was  forlorne. 


H.   Sacrament 


T  O  VE,  upon  a  deep  designe 
"^     How  He  might  poore  Wormes  combine 
With  his  Heavnly  Selfe,  &  twine 
Dust  into  a  state  Divine. 
Did  borrow  frailty  of  a  chosen  Maid, 
And  with  our  Flesh  &  Blood  himselfe  array'd. 

What  He  once  had  borrowed,  Hee 

Ment  to  keep  eternally, 

Yet  in  debt  He  would  not  be 

Unto  poore  Humanitie. 
But  e'r  He  went  to  Heavn,  contrived  how 
To  beare  it  hence,  yet  leave  it  still  below. 

Moulded  up  in  Mystick  Bread 

And  into  a  Chalice  shed, 

Flesh  &>  Blood  He  rendered  : 

Ordering  We  should  be  fed 
With  this  high  Diet,  &  incorporate 
Againe  wth  Him,  who  had  assum'd  our  State. 

Bounteous  Jesu,  thou  hast  more 
Then  discharg'd  thy  loving  score  : 
And  we,  richer  then  before, 
Happily  find  our  selves  most  poor ; 

We  never  can  repay  this  love  of  thine ; 

God  ran  in  debt,  to  make  Man  prove  Divine. 
109 


no     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

If  our  selves  our  offring  be, 
Thou  wantst  not  Humanitie  : 
Love  forstalled  halfe  what  wee 
With  most  right  might  offer  Thee. 
We  yeild,  Great  Lord,  Thou  hast  subdue'd  Us  quite, 
And  unto  Thee  belongs  ev'n  our  selfe-right 

Surely  then  We  will  not  spare 

This  Angelik  Soveraigne  Fare 

Seing  Thine  we  wholly  are. 

For  if  still  our  owne  we  were 
How  could  we  venture  ?     But  now  Thine  we  be, 
Make  Us  as  happy  as  it  pleaseth  Thee. 


Loves  Adventure 


J  OVE  once  a  wooing  went,  &  tride 
■*■'     To  winne  Himselfe  a  Rurall  Bride  : 
His  robe  of  State  He  layd  aside 
And  clad  in  homely  country  weeds,  he  took 
For  his  bright  Scepter  a  plaine  shepherds  Crook. 

Nor  was't  some  Masque  y*  He  intended, 
But  in  good  earnest  thus  He  rended 
Through  Heavn  his  passage,  &  descended, 
Where  in  a  Stable  His  first  Bed  He  made  : 
What  Shepherd  ever  playner  Lodging  had  ? 

There  meeting  wth  his  Love,  arrayd 
In  equall  Habit  (for  ye  Maid 
Was  Humane  Nature)  He  assayd 
To  captive  Her  affections  by  all  arts 
That  Love  can  trie  upon  beloved  Hearts. 

By  Blandishments  of  Tongue  &  Eye, 
By  many  a  tear  &  many  a  sigh, 
He  strove  Her  Soule  to  mollifie. 

No  dowry  He  required,  yet  was  content. 

To  jointure  Her  in  Heavn,  would  shee  consent. 

But  proud  &  coy  Shee  scorned  his  Love, 
And  with  resolved  denyall  strove 
Her  peremptory  Heart  to  prove 
As  hard  as  His  was  soft :  No  spouse  sayes  Shee, 
But  one  thats  great  &  gallant  is  for  Mee. 
in 


ii2     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

(As  if  some  rare  piece  She  had  been 
Of  Beautie,  or  of  Fortune  Queen, 
And  not  a  lump  of  Dust,  as  meane 
As  He  is  Great :  Had  Pride  not  made  her  blind, 
In's  Miracles  She  might  his  Godhead  find). 

This  cruell  Word's  unworthy  Dart 
Strook  deep  in  Lovers  most  tender  Heart 
Yet  was  too  weak  to  make  him  start 
From  his  sweet  enterprise  :  I  have  sayd  He 
As  good  an  aime ;  &  darts  as  sharp  as  Shee. 

With  that  ten  thousand  times  He  shot ; 
But  Shee  all  flint  &  Steele  would  not 
Yeild  to  one  wound ;  which  made  Him  plot 
An  amorous  vengeance,  &  brave  tryall  make 
Seing  Life  could  not,  by  Death  her  Heart  to  break. 

I'l  dye,  He  cryes,  I'l  soundly  dye 
By  mine  owne  mortall  wounds  lie  try 
To  make  her  bleed,  &  venture  by 
My  languishment  &  death  to  make  Her  prove 
The  dainty  languishments,  &  deaths  of  Love. 

Good  as  this  Great  Word  up  he  flyes 
Unto  his  Throne  of  Miseries, 
Where  fastened  by  his  wounds,  he  cryes 
Was  ever  Griefe  like  Mine,  who  here  must  dye 
For  Love  of  Her,  who  doth  my  Love  defye  ? 

And  now  His  conquered  Spouse  does  yeild 
Unto  her  Lord  his  bloody  field, 
Who  both  Himselfe  &  Her  hath  killed  : 
His  most  convincing  Death  it  selfe  did  dart 
Into  her  breast,  &  slew  her  hardned  Heart. 

And  now  by  Lovers  Life  shee  doth  live, 
Which  dying  He  to  her  did  give, 
And  doth  with  loyall  fervour  strive 
To  quit  that  mighty  Score,  &  to  repay 
Him  to  Him  selfe,  upon  their  Wedding  Day. 


Loves  Adventure  113 

For  He  reviv'd  againe  &  now 
Waits  till  ye  Church  be  drest  below, 
That  He  againe  his  Face  may  show 
Not  now  in  Servile,  but  Majestik  guise 
His  Nuptiall  Feast  Princelike  to  solemnize. 


A  Love  bargaine 

LOVE,  how  faine  my  Heart  would  dye, 
To  live  with  Thee  !     But  every  day 
Temptations  ly 
In  ambushment,  &  steale  my  heart  away. 


o 


Surely  were  I  but  I,  no  bait 
Could  from  thy  gentill  Lure  invite  me : 
But  some  Deceit 
Or  other's  allwayes  ready  to  delight  me. 

Ah  poore  Delight,  wch  does  no  more 
But  tickle  me  untill  I  run 

From  ye  safe  shore 
Of  Thy  Restraint  into  ye  Sea  of  Sin. 

Where  oh  how  oft  had  I  been  drown'd 
Had  not  thy  Graces  blessed  beames 

Look'd  forth  &  found 
My  shipwrack'd  Heart  amidst  ye  helplesse  streames. 

But  there  thy  everwatchfull  eye 
Ope'd  wide  &  shew'd  it  selfe  to  Me 
That  fainting  I 
Againe  unto  ye  Shoare  my  Way  might  see. 

Sweet  Ray  of  Love,  no  Marriner 
So  much  salvation  ever  ought 

The  Polar  Star 
As  for  my  sinking  Soule  thy  Light  hath  wrought. 
114 


A  Love  bargaine  115 

Confirme  thy  rescue  Lord,  that  I 
No  more  may  feele  Temptations  spight, 
Or  constantly 
By  thy  strong  hand  repell  their  treacherous  Might. 


So  my  Song 
Shall  be  long 
To  no  praise,  but  Thine : 
So  my  Heart 
Ne'r  shall  start 
Back  from  being  Mine. 

Mine,  yet  still 

At  Thy  will, 
For  thy  will  should  be 

Soule,  &  more 

Then  before 
Selfe  was  unto  Mee. 

So  each  Line 

Shall  be  fine 
With  thy  beauteous  Name, 

Whilst  my  Muse 

Doth  refuse 
Vaine  Pernassu's  fame. 

LOVE  can  be 

Poetrie, 
And  each  verse  grow  brave 

Where  an  Heart 

Wth  true  art 
JESUS  doth  ingrave. 

Never  sound 

Did  rebound 
From  ye  Sphears  like  this : 

Peace  all  other 

Sweets  together 
Musik  JESUS h. 


The  Death   of  ye  Life  of  Love 

O  MIGHTY  LOVE,  well  may  thy  Glorious  Throne 
Be  high  erected  on  subdued  Hearts ; 
Whose  onely  Shade,  &  faint  Reflection, 
With  Life  &  Death  annoints  its  mystik  Darts ! 

But  yesterday  I  did  attend  upon 

Its  solmne  Triumph  carryed  on  an  Herse, 

As  now  I  second  that  Procession 

By  borrowing  feet  of  my  Admiring  Verse. 

Twas  ye  Unfortunate  Body  of  a  Mayd 
Whom  unsuccessfull  Love  had  slowly  slaine  : 
A  generous  Soule,  &  lesse  of  Death  afrayd, 
Then  of  her  long  Beloved's  proud  disdaine. 

In  ye  sinceer  Munificence  of  Love 
She  freely  did  resigne  Him  all  her  Heart : 
And  He,  awhile  seem'd  not  in  debt,  but  strove 
To  answer  Her  in  Bounties  dearest  art. 

But  afterward  cold  &  disdainfull  growne, 
Her  loyall  Heart  away  He  carryed  quite ; 
For  Shee  would  not  receive  it  as  Her  owne, 
Having  by  deed  of  gift  made  His  ye  right. 

And  thus  deprived  of  Life's  onely  Fount 
Her  owne  soft  Heart,  &  allso  His,  wherin 
She  hope'd  to  find  Her  owne,  she  well  might  count 
The  first  part  of  Her  Death  did  heer  begin. 
116 


The  Death  of  ye  Life  of  Love     117 

And  so  it  did  :  for  sighing  out  her  dayes 
In  languishments  of  unregarded  Love, 
By  secret  dainty  Torments  she  decayes 
And  Death's  unwilling  Forces  doth  improve. 

She  so  improves  them,  that  they  now  befriend 
Her  w*  their  finall  stroke,  &  send  her  hence, 
One  out  of  Love  wth  Life,  wch  would  not  lend 
Her  love  againe  to  quit  her  Love's  expense. 

Dear  JESU,  if  these  Mortall  Loves  can  be 
Stronger  then  Death,  what  are  ye  Powers  of  Thine  ; 
How  shall  we  measure  its  immensitie, 
Which,  like  thy  selfe,  compleatly  is  Divine ! 

No  wonder  that  brave  Soules  of  Fire,  wch  are 
Kindled  by  thy  Love's  living  Flame,  can  give 
Defiance  at  ye  blackest  Deaths,  &  dare 
On  any  termes  Venture  with  Thee  to  live. 

No  wonder  that  those  amorous  Hearts,  wch  be 
Their  owne  no  longer,  but  intirely  thine, 
So  pant  &  gasp,  &  languish  after  Thee 
Till  Thou  unto  their  high  desires  incline. 

The  Rose  smiles  not  wth  fragrant  braverie 
On  them,  but  onely  Prickles  forth  doth  bring : 
They  nothing  can  in  ye  Hyblean  Bee 
Discover,  but  an  angry  venom'd  Sting. 

Their  Palates  relish  no  such  things,  as  We 
Doe  Dainties  call :  No  earthly  Glorie's  blaze 
Bears  theirs  contemptuous  Puffe :  No  Gold  can  be 
So  bright,  as  to  allure  their  eyes  to  gaze. 

Life  holds  them  on  ye  rack,  whilst  heer  they  stay, 
Far  from  ye  Life,  by  wch  their  Soules  doe  live : 
No  Cup  of  Sweets  can  their  great  thirst  allay, 
But  what  ye  wished  hand  of  Death  doth  give. 


1 1 8     Poems  of  Joseph   Beaumont 

For  Thee  they  thirst,  for  Thee  the  Spouse  of  Hearts, 
For  Thee  all  Faire,  all  Lovely,  &  all  Love ; 
For  Thee,  who  art  not  proud,  but  by  these  arts 
Of  kind  delayes,  their  loyalty  doth  prove. 

For  Thee  they  thirst,  &  burne  in  this  their  Thirst, 
Till  by  strong  Sighs  their  Soules  exhaled  be ; 
As  Clouds  of  Incense  from  ye  Altar  burst 
Taking  their  course  towards  thy  Heavn,  &  Thee. 

Brave  lovers  these  indeed,  whose  Herses  I 
Would  gladly  follow  j  but  doe  more  desire 
To  trace  their  living  loving  steps,  &  by 
Their  Way  unto  their  journeys  end  aspire. 

But  for  thy  Love,  Dear  Savior  could  I  die  ? 
Me  thinks  I  could,  if  I  but  worthy  were  j 
Surely  this  World's  not  worth  my  Love  :  yet  I 
Trust  not  my  Selfe,  but  hang  on  Thy  Sweet  Care. 


The  two  Fires 

Depart  from  Me  yee  Cursed  into  everlasting  Fire,  prepared  for  ye 
Devill  &  his  Angells.     S.  Mat.  25.  41. 

AND  surely  Lord  Thou  knowest  best, 
Who  didst  that  Fornace  make ; 
Though  venturous  damning  Men  contest, 
And  thy  Decrees  doe  break. 


O  why  should  Wee  ordeine  that  Fire 

For  Man,  which  Thou  at  first 

For  Devills  kindle'st,  &  conspire 

With  them  to  be  accurst ! 

Fire  of  another  mixture  Thou 

For  Man  prepared  hast, 

More  hot  then  that  in  Hell  below, 

And  which  as  long  may  last : 

Delitious  Fire,  whose  fuell  is 

Thine  owne  all-sweetning  Graces, 
Flames  of  eternall  Love  &  blisse 
Of  ravishing  Imbraces. 

And  that  we  might  be  sure  to  be 

Its  Sacrifices,  Thou 
Thy  Selfe  didst  kindly  come  &  see 

It  kindled  heer  below. 
119 


120     Poems  of  Joseph   Beaumont 

Whence,  when  Thou  wert  returned,  Thou 
Thy  potent  Spirit  didst  give, 

Which  on  our  Hearts  mightst  breathe  &  blow 
And  keep  ye  Fire  alive. 


What  couldst  Thou  more  !     If  we  reject 

Our  proper  FLAMES,  sure  none 

But  that  STRANGE  FIRE  we  can  expect ; 
For  burne  we  must  in  One. 


Novemb.  5.  1644 


o 


NO  Mischeivous  Spirits,  it  cannot  be 
That  all  Hell  should  at  once  break  out,  yt  yee 
Should  let  Confusion  lose,  &  by 
An  absolute  Impietie 
Leave  Antichrist  Himselfe  no  way 
How  Hee  ye  King  of  Monsters  may 
Approve  Himselfe,  &  by  some  gallant  sin 
Usher  ye  whole  Worlds  dreadfull  Dissolution  in. 

Your  Plot  is  layd  too  deep :  oh  it  would  rend 

Hells  lowest  bowells  out,  &  fouly  blend 

Them  with  Heavns  beauteous  face.     You  might 
Have  been  content  wth  finite  spight, 
And  chose  some  Treason  that  might  not 
The  whole  Worlds  former  Traytors  blot 

Out  of  their  Catalogue  ;  you  might  have  bin 
Cursed  enough,  had  you  but  copied  some  old  sin. 

It  must  not  be :  Heavn  has  a  thousand  Wayes 
To  undermine  your  vault,  and  can  with  ease 

Blow  up  your  plot  it  selfe ;  but  yet 

Its  infinite  Wisdome  thinks  it  fit 

That  you,  The  Traytors  onely  bee 

Traytors  to  your  owne  Treacherie ; 
That  your  owne  hand  &  pen  ye  way  may  write 
Your  deep  Designe  of  Darknes  how  to  bring  to  light. 

O  may  that  Vengeance,  wch  now  sits  on  You 

Heavy  &  sure,  its  Wholesome  terrour  throw 

121 


122     Poems  of  Joseph   Beaumont 

On  their  foule  Zeale  wch  labour  by 
Full  streams  of  blood  to  purine, 
And  to  reforme,  what  cleanly  they 
Esteeme  polluted  :  Must  ye  Way 
Of  Puritie  be  purged  by  a  staine, 
And  that  of  Scarlet's  deepest  Die  a  Sin  ingraine  ? 

Surely  this  is  a  Treason  too,  whose  bent's 
Not  ye  two  Houses  but  two  Testaments 

To  undermine,  &  at  one  blow 

Both  Root  and  Branch  to  overthrow  ; 

To  make  both  Law  &  Gospell  be 

Pliant  to  lawlesse  Fervencie  ; 
To  rend  ye  Lambs  skin,  &  to  make  his  Fleece 
Blush  all  in  Blood,  wch  ought  still  to  be  white  in  Peace. 


L 


The  Diet 


AST  night  my  Supper,  as  I  fed, 
Sufficed  not  but  changed  quite 
My  Stomack,  &  in  Secret  led 
It  to  a  Table 
Compleatly  able 
To  satisfie  the  largest  Appetite. 

What  are  these  Meats  &  Drinks  below, 
But  things  as  vaine  &  fraile  as  Wee  ? 
By  which  We  grow  indeed,  but  grow 

Neerer  each  day 

To  that  Decay 
Which  must  consummate  our  Mortalitie. 

Wee  feed  but  on  these  Things,  untill 
Ourselves  become  fit  meat,  wherby 
The  Grave  her  gaping  Mouth  may  fill ; 

Where  finallie 

Our  Meats  &  wee 
In  one  Corruption  swallowed  up  must  lie. 

Could  any  earthly  Dainties  teach 
Us  how  to  live  indeed,  sure  I ; 
Could  there  Devoto  turne,  &  preach 
For  them,  &  none 
But  them  alone, 
Nor  any  Doctrine  presse,  but  Gluttonie. 
123 


124     Poems  of  Joseph   Beaumont 

I  could  on  silly  Womens  Zeale 
Grow  fat,  &  at  their  Tables  end 
Uses  &  Exhortations  deale 
Wherby  they  might 
Both  Noon  &  Night 
Meat  &  Drink-Offrings  on  GOD  BELLY  spend. 

The  Reprobates  I  could  Decree 
To  have  no  Right,  but  those  alone 
Who  Godly  are,  to  all  we  see 
Daintie  &  sweet 
And  fatning  Meat ; 
Taking  for  granted,  that  my  Selfe  were  One. 

All  Fasting  Dayes  I  could  despise 
And  prove  a  Fryday-Capon  were 
A  purer,  holyer,  Sacrifice 

Then  Abstinence 

And  Penitence, 
And  such  vexatious  Superstitious  geare. 

But  oh  !  Those  Viands  onely  can 
The  Belly  fill ;  but  know  not  how 
Indeed  to  satisfie  ye  Man. 
Man's  not  wl  We 
Heere  feeding  see ; 
The  Soule's  ye  Man,  &  that  must  feed  &  grow. 

Unbounded  is  its  Appetite, 

And  boundlesse  Diet  doth  require ; 

Meats  of  unmeasured  delight 

Which  allway  fill 

It  full,  yet  still 
Leave  room  for  Hungers  ever  fresh  Desire. 

fESU,  no  Diet  can  suffice, 
But  what  Thine,  owne  Magnificence 
Provided  hath  above  ye  Skies. 
Thou,  who  didst  make 
This  Hunger,  take 
Some  course  to  stop  its  burning  violence. 


The  Diet  125 


Long  in  this  weary  world  have  I 
Trembled  &  toss'd,  &  nothing  found 
But  husks,  which  cannot  satisfie 

My  hungry  Heart : 

Faine  would  I  part 
From  hence,  whence  naught  but  nothing  does  abound. 

But  if  I  must  not  die  as  yet, 
Alive  do  Thou  this  Hunger  keep : 
By  Faith  &  Hope  oh  nourish  it 

Till  at  ye  last 

This  long,  long  Fast 
By  Thy  sweet  grace  an  endlesse  Feast  shall  reap. 


Censure 


NO !     I'm  sure  it  was  presumptous  Pride  . 
Poore  Heart  trier's  no  excusing  it : 
Not  all  ye  Wit 
Of  Philautie  can  serve  this  swelling  blot  to  hide. 


o 


Though  some  to  shun  a  Tempest's  Molestations 
Made  choise  of  Shipwrack  ;  &  drunk  up 
In  a  New  Cup 
Rank  Poyson  to  prevent  a  Fevers  short  Vexations : 

Thou  hadst  no  reason  to  insult  &  ride 

In  Triumph  over  Those,  who  were 
Throwne  downe  by  feare  : 
With  other  Sins  They  made  a  Covenant,  Thou  wth  Pride. 

Had  strong  Temptations  flowne  so  thick  on  Thee 
Perhaps  Thou  wouldst  have  sunk  :  it  was 
The  Gale  of  Grace, 
Not  Thine  owne  Spirit,  which  made  Thee  saile  in  safetie. 

O  tremble  then,  when  Thou  beholdest  Others 
Fearefull  of  anything,  but  sin, 
Lest  Thou  begin 
By  Pride  to  share  in  that  Offense,  which  was  thy  Brothers. 

In  HUMBLE  FEARE  let  all  thy  strength  be  layd, 
For  Pride's  but  at  its  highest  rise 
Big  Cowardice. 
Hell  fears  no  Pride,  but  is  of  HUMBLE  FEARE  afrayd. 

126 


Wish 


es 


NOW  I  have  Mind  &  leisure 
To  trip  a  chearly  Measure ; 
DESIRE,  come  freely  hither, 
And  tell  Me  plainly,  whither 
Thy  Wishes  come  not  thronging, 
And  make  Thee  big  wth  longing. 

Dos't  hanker  after  Pleasures, 
The  Bellys  lazie  Treasures, 
Which  there  will  rot  before  Thee, 
And  with  Corruption  store  Thee, 
Providing  quicker  breeding 
For  Wormes  &  fatter  feeding  ? 
Such  belly  Amunition 
Maintaines  but  ye  Physitian, 
And  howsoe'r  it  pleases, 
Cheats  Thee  into  diseases. 

Doe  Gold  &  Silver  woo  Thee  ? 
Abundance  will  undoe  Thee. 
The  MetalPs  sad ;  be  warie, 
How  much  thou  striv'st  to  carry  : 
ENOUGH  is  vaster  Treasure, 
Then  Wealth,  yl  knows  no  measure, 
Which  Dropsie-like,  may  kill  thee, 
And  split,  but  never  fill  thee. 

To  Honours  gaudy  splendor 
Couldst  thou  thy  selfe  surrender, 
And  court  ye  glittering  graces 
Of  high  commanding  Places  ? 
Where  flattering  Eyes  devotions 
Will  wait  on  all  thy  motions, 
127 


128     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

And  foulest  vices  garnish 

With  Virtue's  forced  Varnish  ; 

Where  Envie's  disaffections 

Will  blast  thy  fairest  actions, 

And  in  ten  thousand  Places 

Will  undermine  thy  paces, 

Painting  in  thy  confusion 

A  falling  stars  conclusion. 

Doe  Wedlock's  Looks  invite  Thee 

In  chast  Sweets  to  delight  Thee  ? 

But  what  if  thou  dost  marry 

Millions  of  Cares,  &  carry 

Thy  single  Freedomes  Treasure 

Into  a  Chaine  for  Pleasure, 

Of  which  sole  Death  can  ease  Thee ; 

A  Friend,  which  scarce  will  please  Thee  ? 
What,  does  thy  Study  lure  thee 

Within  it  to  immure  thee  ? 
And  stow  up  thy  Provision 
Of  learned  Ammunition  ? 

Alas  vaine  Project,  Plunder 

Has  broke  that  Plot  in  sunder : 

Cambridge,  thy  genuine  Mother, 
Is  force'd  to  be  no  other 
But  step-dame,  &  reject  thee, 
Though  once  she  did  elect  Thee. 
Tis  well,  God  doth  not  fashion 
By  Man's,  his  Reprobation. 
Tis  well,  thy  new  &  Noble 
Society  doth  double 
Thy  Comfort :  gallant  Spirits 
(Men  of  abused  Merits) 
With  Thee  are  Reprobated  : 
Seing  then  Thou  art  estated 
In  this  brave  Losse,  no  matter, 
This  FELLOWSHIP'S ye  better. 

Wouldst,  if  thou  couldst  come  by  it, 
Thy  Living  hold  in  quiet, 
And  by  its  Profits,  treasure 
Up  fuell  for  thy  Pleasure  ? 


Wishes  129 

Fondling,  how  thou  mistakest 

Thy  happiness,  &  makest 

Thy  gaine  thy  Losse  !     Th'  ast  gained 

Not  to  be  spent  &  pained 

With  Mystik  Cares  :  Most  mighty 

Hero's  who  knew  ye  weighty 

Burden  of  Soules,  have  faster 

Fled  from  ye  Name  of  Pastor 

Then  unfledge  Brats  now  hasten 

Upon  this  charge  to  fasten  : 

Well  now  I  see  that  Wishing, 
Is  but  halfe  way  to  Missing  j 
E'n  wish  no  more  :  II  tell  thee 
A  certaine  course  to  fill  thee 
With  all,  thy  Heart  can  covet ; 
Choose  but  Gods  Will  &  love  it, 
So  shall  thou  be  assured 
Thy  Wish  will  be  procured ; 
For  no  Crosse  then  can  spight  Thee 
Thy  Will  being  grown  Almightie. 


S.  Andrew 


FARRE  on  his  Manly  shoulders  had  the  Saint 
Carry'd  his  Masters  mightie  Crosse :  nor  Thrace 
Nor  spatious  Scythia  ever  saw  Him  faint, 
But  on  He  marched  still,  &  march'd  apace. 

The  dark  Barbarians  wondered  at  ye  Sight,    s 
And  cast  their  conquerd  Hearts  all  in  his  way 
Whilst  in  their  Northern  Superstitious  Night 
They  saw  ye  Rise  of  a  Meridian  Day : 

A  Day,  w0*1  ought  its  East,  not  to  ye  East 
But  to  ye  South,  to  priveleg'd  Palestine : 
The  Christian  Day  full  Southern  is,  &  drest 
With  highnoon  rayes,  when  first  it  ginns  to  shine. 

And  now,  said  Heavn,  though  He  would  still  goe  on, 
Wee  must  relieve  Him  for  Our  Honours  sake : 
Be  then  his  LOAD  his  EASE ;  let  Him  upon 
The  Crosse  his  Chaire  of  earned  Triumph  take. 

Nor  shall  Aegeus,  though  Proconsul  He, 
Disdaine  to  help  Him  up  upon  His  Throne : 
In  proudest  Rome  ne'r  did  Aegeus  see 
So  fair  a  Triumph,  nor  so  long  a  one. 

Nayld  fast  unto  his  Honour  is  ye  Saint, 
Arrayd  in  Scarlet  from  his  owne  rich  veines. 
Mistake  not  Pagans ;  tis  no  torturing  Paint 
Nor  is  this  Crosse  a  Throne  of  Soveraine  Paines. 
130 


S.  Andrew  131 


Draw  neer  &  hearken ;  does  He  there  bewaile 
Himselfe,  or  you  ?     Craves  He  your  Lenitie, 
Or  offers  help  to  your  lethargik  Aile  ? 
Fast  are  You  nayld  to  Danger,  He  is  free. 

And  to  his  freedome  He  invites  you  all. 
How  sweet  sit  Heavn  &  JESUS  on  his  Toung  ! 
Whilst  from  His  Lips  full  Streames  of  Life  doe  fall, 
No  words  which  to  a  dying  Man  belong. 

Oft  had  He  preachd,  but  never  climbd  till  now 
So  fit  a  Pulpit,  where  ye  World  might  see 
What  sweet  fruit  on  that  bitter  Tree  can  grow 
This  Noble  Pulpit  preachd  as  well  as  He. 

Long  was  His  Sermon,  for  his  last  it  was. 
Two  dayes  it  measur'd  &  yet  seem'd  but  short. 
What  are  two  poore  &  flitting  dayes,  alas 
To  that  which  doth  Eternity  import  ? 

And  am  I  nayld  in  vaine,  Deare  Lord,  said  He 
Unto  this  Pillar  of  renowned  Death  ! 
Though  not  poore  I,  yet  Thou  deserv'st  for  Me 
That  in  this  honour  I  may  yeild  my  breath. 

Up  flew  these  Words,  &  downe  there  flew  as  fast 
For  His  Sweet  Convoy  an  illustrious  Light : 
With  which  from  this  dark  world  ye  Saint  made  haste 
And  to  his  Lords  Deare  Bosome  took  his  flight. 

Where  for  Aegeus  with  Requests  more  warme 
Then  was  his  reeking  Blood,  he  strongly  prayes ; 
And  labouring  that  red  Crie  asleep  to  charme, 
The  Tyrant  for  his  Crosse  He  well  repayes. 


S.    Thomas 


1MUST  not  praise  Thee  that  Thou  tardy  art 
In  crediting  thy  Lords  Miraculous  Rise 
Yet  must  I  thank  Thee,  for  my  Heartned  Heart 
By  this  thy  tardiness  more  nimbly  flyes. 

My  faithlessnes  prevented  is  by  Thee, 

And  by  thy  Tongue,  e'r  I  was  borne,  I  said 

Fl  not  believe  He's  Risen,  till  I  see 

Those  Prints  which  by  the  Spear,  &  Nailes  were  made. 

By  thine,  my  Finger  tryd  each  reverend  Wound, 
By  which  each  Hand  of  Mercy  broached  was : 
By  thine,  my  hand  express  admission  found 
Where  ye  lesse  cruell  Spear  before  did  passe. 

With  Thee,  by  those  three  Mouths  of  Goodnes  I 
Confuted  was,  &  could  not  chuse  but  yeild. 
He  who  could  conquer  Death,  whilst  He  did  dye, 
Of  Us  might  easily,  living,  win  ye  Feild. 

By  thine,  my  Tongue  did  clear  Confession  make, 
Whilst  further  then  my  hand  my  Heart  did  prie, 
And  from  my  Lips  thy  Eccho  still  doth  break 
My  Gody  my  Lord,  for  ever  will  I  crie. 


132 


S.  Johan.   ad  Port.   Latin 


(To  a  Base  &  2  Trebles.) 

FOOLISH  Tyrant,  spare  thy  cost, 
All  thine  Oile  &  Labour's  lost : 
This  is  a  Seraph  all  on  fire ; 
Oile  will  but  feed  his  Flames  up  higher. 
If  Thou  would'st  kill  Him,  let  Him  live 
Death  his  best  Life  to  Him  will  give. 

Foolish  Tyrant 
Who  anoint'st  thine  Enemie 
Too  strong  before  for  Hell  and  Thee ; 
And  dost  for  streams  of  Torments,  shed 
Soft  Oile  of  Gladnes  on  His  Head. 


i33 


SS.   Innocents  Day 

(To  a  Base  &  2  Trebles.) 

GOE  Roseall  Budds  of  Martyrdome, 
In  Paradise  goe  take  your  rome ; 
Where  you  may  flourish,  &  not  fear 
That  Herods  Sword  can  cropp  you  there. 

Your  little  LORD  that  scapes  to-day  ' 

All  yours  in  richer  Blood  will  pay : 

First  let  Him  grow,  &  fill  his  veins 

Whose  Blood  must  wash  the  whole  Worlds  staines. 


i34 


Epiphanie   Oblation 

(To  a  Base  &  2  Trebles.) 

1.   /^\UR  Gold,  rich  King  of  Povertie, 
Xss.     2.   \_J    Our  Incense  Infant  Dietie, 
3.  Our  Myrrh  for  thy  Humanitie, 

Chorus. — And  Our  poore  Selves  we  bring  to  Thee. 

Xs. 

In  Us  our  East  is  hither  come. 
Chorus. — To  meet  thine  Eyes,  its  fairer  Home. 

1.  O  let  this  Gold  wait  on  thy  Crowne : 
Xss.     2.  This  Incense  let  thine  Altar  owne ; 

3.  And  this  Myrrh  on  thy  Tomb  be  throwne  : 
And  our  East  be  thine  Eyes  Sweet  Dawne. 

Chorus. — So  shall  our  other  East  &  We 
Adore  no  Sun,  but  onely  Thee. 


i35 


The  Admirable  Conversion  of  S.   Paul 

Acts  9. 

A  THIRST  againe  ?     But  even  now 
Stev'ns  Sacred  veines    were  broached,  whence 
Thou 
Tookst  thy  full  draught,  &  left'st  ye  Saint 
No  more  then  servd  his  wounds  to  paint. 
Thy  bloody  Mouth  still  blusheth  in 
Confession  of  that  reeking  sin  : 
And  needs  some  other  liquor  now, 
To  wash  that  stain.     O  didst  Thou  know 
The  vertue  of  ye  Springs,  which  rise 
In  a  true  Penitent  Sinners  Eyes, 
Those  streams  ye  better  thirst  of  thy 
Inflamed  Soule  would  satisfie, 
And  washing  her  deep  staine  away 
Up  unto  Heavn  thy  Heart  convey 
(How  foule  soever  it  came  hither) 
As  faire  as  His  Thou  Stoned'st  thither. 

But  of  all  Liquors  onely  Blood 
Quenches  not  thirst ;  its  Purple  Flood 
All  though  but  moderate  whilst  at  home, 
Most  Fiercely  burnes  when  it  doth  come 
Abroad,  &  in  all  veines  is  knowne 
To  turne  to  fire,  but  in  its  owne. 
Look  how  ye  furious  flame  doth  break 
Vers.  1.  From  Sauls  impatient  Mouth,  &  speak 
Its  proper  language,  fire  &  sword 
Against  ye  Followers  of  ye  Lord : 

136 


Admirable  Conversion  of  S.   Paul    137 

fcThat  Lord,  whose  blood,  if  any,  might 
Have  quenchd  Mortalls  immortall  Spight. 
But  Furies  thirst,  still  thirsty  can 
Exhaust  ye  Blood  of  God  &  man. 

But  whither  now  ?     Why  to  ye  Priest  ? 
He  is  a  Man,  &  in  his  Breast 
There  something  lesse  perhaps  may  dwell 
Then  perfect  Tigre  :  down  to  Hell 
And  get  thy  desperate  Commission 
Under  ye  Broad  Seale  of  Perdition. 
There  Thou  shalt  have  both  thanks  &  pay 
And  new  fire  to  thy  Zeale  :  away, 
A  prince  will  help  Thee  there,  &  be 
Captaine  of  thy  Conspiracie. 

No  :  heers  a  shorter  Passage  :  Saul 
Can  meet  Him  in  ye  High  Priests  Hall, 
Where  ye  black  Warrant  first  was  pennd 
JESUS  him  selfe  to  apprehend. 
And  'tis  decorum  now,  sayes  He, 
That  none  but  this  Authoritie 
Which  did  that  foule  Imposter  take, 
Should  seize  his  Followers,  &  make 
The  Glory  wholly  yours ;  that  you 
Most  Holy  Sir,  should  overthrow 
That  Rout  wch  dares  oppose  ye  Grace 
Of  Moses  evershining  face ; 
Which  dares  blasphemously  preferre 
Poor  Tabors  forged  Lustre  far 
Before  those  dreadfull  beames,  wch  did 
Break  out  from  Sina's  glorious  Head. 
Let  these  resumptious  Rebells  know 
Moses  is  still  alive  in  you ; 
And  as  in  His  great  Chaire  you  sit, 
So  His  all-powerfull  Rod  is  put 
Into  your  Hand.     Had  that  proud  He 
The  Master  of  this  Heresie, 
Been  kept  close  to  his  honest  Trade, 
Surely  he  never  could  have  had 
So  many  Prentises.     But,  Sir, 
Is  it  not  time  for  Zeale  to  stir 


138     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

Now  their  vile  Carpenters  new  Art 

Hath  built  his  Fabrik  in  ye  Heart 

Of  ye  deceived  People  higher 

Then  doth  our  Temples  crest  aspire  ? 

Now  that  Mechanik  Doctors  Law 

Out  braves  our  reverend  Statutes  ?     Now 

The  cursed  Crosse  usurps  to  be 

Of  Life  &  Blessednesse  the  Tree 

By  His  profound  Inchantment  ?     O 

(Seing  They  themselves  will  have  it  so) 

Envy  them  not  that  Glorie's  shame ; 

Let  every  one  obteine  ye  fame 

Of  their  Lords  Death  :  Such  honour  I 

To  no  Blasphemer  would  deny. 

If  You  can  undertake  to  find 

Crosses  enough,  let  Me  have  sign'd 

Your  warrant,  &  no  feare,  but  I 

Will  Heretiks  enough  descry 

For  you  ye  righteous  Priest  to  offer 

Upon  those  Altars ;  They  can  suffer 

Upon  no  fitter  Engin ;  you 

No  better  Offring  can  bestow 

Upon  that  God,  which  doth  decree 

Strict  Death  for  lesser  Blasphemie. 

And  if  ye  Romans  will  not  Yeild 

By  tumult  We  will  win  ye  feild. 

Eas'ly  was  this  Comission  got 
And  Saul  well  mounted  on  a  hot 
And  fiery  Steed  (though  not  so  fierce 
As  He  himselfe)  sets  on  his  course 
Damascus  way.     What  hardy  He 
Dares  stop  ye  Man  ?     Authority 
And  zeale  both  spur  him  on.     I  ride 
Upon  Heavns  errand ;  on  my  side 
Is  both  ye  Highest  Priest,  says  He, 
And  that  Priests  Highest  Dietie. 

Why  starts  ye  Gallant  ?     O  hee's  downe 
Both  Horse  &  Man  are  overthrowne  : 
Vers.  3.  A  Light  shining  with  much  more  day 
Then  ye  compleat  Meridian  Ray 


Admirable  Conversion  of  S.   Paul   139 

Arrests  Him  in  his  way  unto 

His  work  of  darkness  ;  &  doth  show 

A  higher  Priest  then  He,  from  whom 

His  proud  Commission  doth  come. 

It  showes  ye  Carpenter  to  be 

Maker  of  Light  &  Majestie, 

At  which  those  late  disdainfull  eyes 

Shrink  into  Blindnes.     Now  Saul  spies 

Without  his  Sight,  what  untill  now 

He  could  not  see,  or  would  not  know. 

O  happy  Blindnes  !     Christ  before 

Caird  divers,  whilst  He  did  restore 

Their  Sight :  but  here  He  doth  begin 

By  Blindnes  Proselytes  to  win. 

It  is  enough,  if  to  ye  Eyes 

Of  Mans  dark  heart  Day  does  arise. 

But  hearken  Saul,  thine  ears  are  ope ; 
The  way  of  Faith  Christ  would  not  stop. 
Hark,  'tis  not  angry  Thunders  tone 
But  ye  soft  Voice  of  Love  alone. 
Vers.  4.  SA  UL,  SA  UL.     And  why  not  Rebell,  who 
Against  his  King  rides  armed  so. 
O  no :  tis  Love  yt  speaks,  &  He 
By  Sweetnes  will  a  Conqueror  be. 
Why  persecutst  Thou  Me  ?     Can  I 
Offend  my  Creature,  who  did  die 
To  win  its  love?     What  wouldst  Thou  more, 
Then  what  I  freely  gave  before  ? 
My  Heart  resignd  Thee  all  her  blood 
Which  once  alone  can  do  Thee  good. 
Seek  not  to  ravish  it  againe 
Out  of  my  Mystik  Bodies  veine, 
Out  of  my  tender  Church  which  I 
Have  chose  to  be  its  Treasurie. 
Alas  thy  Stomach  doth  in  vaine 
My  milde  Humilitie  disdaine  : 
Were  I  still  crownd  wth  Thornes,  ev'n  those 
Would  prick  &  vex  my  proudest  Foes. 
But  now  that  wreath  I  have  layd  downe, 
And  reassum'd  my  Royall  Crowne, 


140     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

Whose  Lustre  frights  Thee  thus.     And  how 
Wilt  Thou  indure  my  Hand,  who  now 
Confounded  art  with  one  poore  beam 
Which  from  my  Countenance  doth  stream  ? 
And  yet  more  powerful!,  &  more  bright 
And  farr  more  sweet  then  is  this  Light, 
Is  My  dear  Name  :  I  JESUS  AM 
Whom  Thou  to  persecute  art  come. 

Sure  Heavn  &  all  its  powers  doe  lie 
In  this  blessd  words  Epitomie. 
Sweetly  rolld  up  :  Sure  JESUS  is 
The  truer  Name  of  Paradise. 
In  this  one  Sound  all  Charmes  unite 
Their  Mystik  &  unconquer'd  might : 
Which  makes  all  Nature  stop,  &  yeild 
Unto  victorious  Grace  ye  Feild. 
Rage  never  held  a  larger  part 
In  any  robbed  Lyons  Heart, 
Then  in  Sauls  furious  Soule,  untill 
This  potent  Name  his  Eares  did  fill : 
His  eares,  wch  stop'd  before  had  heard 
Onely  ye  Outside  of  ye  Word. 
But  now  no  Dove  more  mild,  no  Lamb 
More  gentle  ever  was  &  tame, 
No  Aire  more  calme,  no  wax  more  free 
To  entertain  impression  :  See 
How  patiently  He  lies  j  DEARE  LORD, 
Vers.  6.   WHAT  WOULD  ST  THOU  HAVE  ME   DOEs 
his  word. 
I  am  beseig'd  with  light  &  love 
And  yeild  my  selfe  to  them  \  O  prove 
Thy  Prisoners  Loyaltie ;  impose 
What  task  Thou  wilt,  I  cannot  choose 
But  serve  so  dear  a  Conqueror :  say 
Shall  I  goe  travell  in  ye  way, 
That  hard  &  stony  way,  which  thy 
Most  Faithfull  Steven  went  in  to  die  ? 
Or  shall  I  march  unto  ye  Place 
Of  thy  dear  Crosse,  &  have  ye  grace 
To  climb  up  to  it,  &  there  pay 


Admirable  Conversion  of  S.  Paul   141 

The  debt  of  this  most  gracious  Day, 
My  Blood  &  Life  ?     O  that  I  had 
Ten  thousand  Hearts,  that  I  might  shed 
Some  worthy  store  of  Streames  for  Thee 
Who  shed'st  such  Noble  Blood  for  Mee ! 
Stay,  Zealous  Soule ;  brave  is  ye  heat 
Which  in  thy  faith  full  Breast  doth  beat. 
A  Heat  too  brave  to  make  such  hast 
Unto  its  ashes  \  it  must  last 
Untill  it  flame  so  high  &  bright, 
That  all  ye  World  admire  its  light : 
Untill  it  doth  those  Mists  dispell 
Which  on  ye  Earth  have  spred  out  Hell ; 
Untill  it  dazell  ye  weak  eye 
Of  ye  proud  Priest,  no  longer  high  ; 
Untill  it  takes  up  all  ye  room 
From  Solyma  to  Illyrium ; 
Untill  its  Prosperous  beams  doe  fight 
With  sturdy  Pomes  most  monstrous  Night ; 
And  in  great  Nero's  Court  prepare 
Some  lodging  for  Heavns  Emperor. 
Then  shall  thy  Fire  have  leave  to  make 
Towards  its  Sphear :  A  Sword  shall  take 
Away  thine  Head,  or  rather  be 
But  as  a  Snuffer  unto  Thee  j 
For  then  ye  Flame  shall  purer  rise 
And  reach  far  far  above  ye  skies, 
Meeting  ye  fount  of  that  Sweet  Light, 
From  whence  it  selfe  at  first  grew  bright ; 
And  so  for  ever  glitter  there 
A  sweet  &  intellectuall  Star. 


Christmasse  Day 


WONDERS  Birthday 
Which  maks't  Decembers  face 
Fairer  then  May, 
And  bidst  ye  Spring  give  place 
To  fresher  Winter,  in  whose  hardie  Snow 
A  Flowre  more  sweet  then  ye  wholl  Spring  doth  grow. 

For  Winter  now 
A  Virgin  Plant  espies 

Which  all  his  snow 
Could  never  equalize : 
More  white,  more  chast  is  shee,  yet  fertile  too : 
The  King  of  Miracles  would  have  it  so. 

For  Hee  it  was 
Who  would  be  borne  below 

And  find  a  place 
Amongst  poor  Us  to  grow : 
Him  selfe  He  planted  in  our  Dust,  that  Hee 
Might  be  as  true  a  Mortall  Thing  as  wee. 

That  He  should  get 
A  Birth  all  clean  &  pure,  . 

Him  selfe  He  set, 
And  by  that  Art  was  sure. 
Proud  flesh  corrupts  &  staine's  ye  Seed  we  sow : 
He,  planted  by  his  Spirit  will  spotlesse  grow. 
142 


Christmasse  Day  143 

Virginitie 
His  Father  vaunteth  not 

Though  glorious  He 
So  great  a  Son  hath  got. 
Wherfore  Heavn  orders  that  a  Virgin  be 
The  Lilly-Mother  of  his  Puritie. 

Upon  ye  white 
Church-wall  oftimes  have  I 

Observ'd  ye  Light, 
Which  darting  from  ye  Skie 
Peirce'd  ye  unbroken  Glasse,  &  w^  it  brought 
The  orient  colours  in  ye  Window  wrought. 

So  from  his  sphear 
The  Lord  of  Light  doth  come, 

And  passing  here 
His  chrystall  Mothers  womb, 
Leaves  her  intirely  whole,  yet  brings  away 
Her  perfect  Image,  borne  as  Man  to  Day 

He  who  did  wear 
Gods  radiant  boundlesse  Forme 

Shrinks  Himselfe  heer 
Into  a  simple  worme. 
Heavn's  moulded  up  in  Earth,  Eternity 
Grasp'd  in  a  span  of  Time  doth  bounded  ly. 

All  Paradise 
Collected  in  one  Bud 
Doth  sweetly  rise 
From  its  fair  Virgin  bed  : 
Omnipotence  an  Infants  shape  puts  on  : 
Immensitie  becomes  a  Little  One. 

But  onely  Love 
Would  not  thus  scanted  be 

But  stoutly  strove 
'Gainst  this  Conspiracie 
Of  strange  Epitomies,  &  did  display 
It  selfe  more  full  on  this  contracting  Day. 


S.  Stephen 


BLIND  foolish  Jews^  ye  Stones  yee  throw 
Though  rude  as  you,  shall  pretious  grow, 
And  sparkle  in  ye  Martyrs  Crowne, 
Whom  yee  exalt  by  beating  downe, 
Or  serve  to  pave  his  way 
On's  Coronation  Day. 

As  ye  Arabian  Sweets  are  bruis'd 
To  make  them  sweeter  ;  so  y'have  use'd 
Our  pretious  patient  Saint :  see  now 
What  store  of  Odours  from  Him  flow, 

Which  in  a  cloud  arise 

Perfuming  all  ye  skies. 

What  odoriferous  Prayers  from 

His  beaten  bruised  Mouth  doe  come  ! 

How  like  an  Incense  Offring  they 

To  Gods  owne  Nostrills  make  their  Way, 

Striving  to  pacifie 

The  angry  Dietie  ! 

For  You  He  prayes,  &  louder  beats 
Heavns  Gate,  then  all  your  bloody  threats 
And  stones  doe  Him.     But  having  sed 
His  Prayers,  he  falls  asleep ;  his  Bed 

Indeed  is  hard,  yet  this 

The  Bed  of  Honour  is. 
144 


S.   Stephen  145 


And  Honour  sweeten's  every  bed, 

And  gently  doth  repose  ye  Head 

Of  Noble  Hero's  :  Tis  not  all 

Your  rampant  cursing  noise  that  shall 

Keep  Steven  from  Sleeping  on 
His  hardy  Bed  of  Stone. 

There  sleeps  his  reverend  Body.     But 
His  soaring  Spirit  to  Heavn  is  got ; 
Nor  wears  He  onely  in  his  Name 
A  Crowne,  but  on  his  Head  doth  flame 

Felicities  pure  gemme, 

An  Heavnly  Diademe. 

He  crowned  is,  &  is  with  all 

The  Crowne  of  that  stout  Troop,  wch  shall 

Upon  their  Heads  wear  ruby  beames 

And  grained  Purple  Diadems 

The  crowne  of  those  who  give 
Their  lives  away  to  live. 

Receive  my  Spirit  Lord Jesu  cry'd 

The  Noble  Saint,  &  so  he  dy'd. 

O  no,  He  then  began  to  live 

A  Life,  wch  Life  could  never  give. 
Death  is  ye  Art  wherby 
Martyrs  leave  off  to  dy. 

He  gan  to  live,  &  gan  to  prove 

His  Sacred  Ministry  above. 

The  Deacon  gan  to  wait  upon 

The  Soveraigne  Priests  triumphant  Throne  : 

And  by  that  Service,  He 

Began  a  King  to  be : 

Jesus  is  King  of  Kings,  &  his 
Kingdome  by  Saints  impeopled  is, 
Who  from  his  Crowne's  reflected  beams 
Doe  all  receive  their  Diadems ; 

So  they  all  reigne  in  blisse, 
Yet  He  sole  Soveraigne  is. 


S.  John 
The  Disciple,  whom  Jesus  loved 

BELOV'D  indeed :  not  that  thine  onely  Heart 
Had  captiv'd  His,  &  did  monopolize 
All  its  rich  wares  of  Love,  wch  did  impart 
Themselves  in  liberall  mines,  &  surprise 

The  Universe  wth  Sweetnes ;  but  y*  Hee 

Who  loved  all  Men  was  IN  LOVE  WITH  THEE. 

He  was  in  love  with  thy  Virginitie, 
Which  with  all  blooming  beauties  was  bedeckt : 
Millions  of  softest  Graces  shin'd  in  Thee, 
Which  from  Heavns  Treasuries  He  did  select 
To  garnish  out  a  worthy  Spouse,  in  whose 
Delicious  eyes,  his  owne  He  meant  to  lose. 

He  was  in  love  with  ye  Reflection 
Of  His  owne  Sweetnes  shining  in  thy  Face ; 
With  Sympathetik  Joy  He  dwelt  upon 
His  iterated  Selfe  in  that  pure  Glasse, 

Striveing  all  amorous  Arts  on  it  to  prove  ; 

O  blessed  Soule  wth  whom  Love  fell  in  Love. 

From  off  ye  troubled  Maine  He  lured  Thee 
Into  a  deeper  Sea  of  calmest  Pleasures, 
The  Bosome  of  Supreme  Serenitie 
To  which  ye  Ocean  is  but  poore  in  Treasures  : 

His  owne  dear  Breast  to  Thee  He  opened  wide, 

And  let  Thee  in  unto  its  fullest  Tide. 
146 


S.  John  147 

There  didst  Thou  lie  next  to  ye  Heart  of  Love, 
Whose  ravishing  imbraces  kept  Thee  warme 
With  all  ye  best  of  Heavn,  no  more  above, 
But  folded  up  in  His  incircling  Arme  : 

Whence  our  admiring  Thoughts,  Great  Saint,  conclude, 

Thou  wert  aforehand  with  Beatitude. 

The  loftiest  Stories,  where  pure  Seraphs  dwell 

Exalted  in  felicities  bright  Sphear, 

Thy  dainty  Habitation  doth  excell ; 

For  at  His  Footstoole  They  lie  prostrate  there 
Amidst  ye  Sweets  of  whose  all-balmy  Breast 
Thine  onely  Head  makes  its  Delicious  Nest. 

What  potent  Joyes,  what  mysticall  Delight, 

Woo'd  &  beseig'd  thy  Soule  on  every  side, 

Whilst  thy  inamour'd  Spouse  spent  all  ye  might 

Of  Heavnly  tendernes  on  his  deare  Bride ! 

How  many  healing  wounds  gave  His  Loves  Dart, 
How  many  living  Deaths  to  thy  soft  Heart. 

Thus  while  He  lived,  He  sweetly  live'd  in  Thee  : 

But  now  He  dyes  :   Behold  Him  nayled  fast 

Unto  His  Death.     Yet  no  Mortalitie 

Can  seize  upon  His  Love ;  observe  his  last 

And  tenderest  words,  whilst  He  Himselfe  doth  dy, 
To  Thee  He  gives  Loves  living  Legacie. 

Into  His  Dearest  Mothers  Bosome  Hee 

Commendeth  Thee,  &  bids  Her  owne  her  Son ! 

What  Nature  could  not,  Love  commands  to  be, 

And  Mary  must  be  Mother  unto  John. 

Jesus  Szjohn  love  had  so  closely  tyde, 
That  in  their  Mother  They  must  not  divide. 

Mary  no  other  Glasse  could  find,  where  Shee 

So  fair  an  Image  of  her  Son  might  read ; 

Nor  John  so  pure  a  Mirrour,  wherin  Hee 

His  ever-looking-longing  eyes  might  feed 

On  His  dear  Lord.     Thus  Love,  though  dead  &  gone, 
Sweetly  leaves  John  his  Spouse,  Mary  her  Son. 


148     Poems  of  Joseph   Beaumont 

No  wonder,  dearest  Saint,  yl  on  Thy  Toung 
Love  builds  his  Hive,  &  drops  his  Honey  thence, 
Whilst  thy  Soule-charming  Words  relish  so  strong 
Of  Heavns  best  Sweets,  &  choicest  influence  : 

That  Love,  from  his  owne  Wing  lent  Thee  ye  quill 
Which  all  thy  Lines  wth  Charity  doth  fill. 

No  wonder  y1  Port  Latin  saw  ye  Oile 
Scalding  in  vaine :  Thou,  who  dost  live  by  Fire, 
And  in  whose  Breast  such  amorous  streams  doe  boile, 
Canst  feele  no  other  Flames.     O,  no  :  some  higher 
Fervor  of  Love  must  melt  thine  owne,  &  send 
Thee  to  ye  flaming  Bosome  of  thy  Friend. 

The  languishments  of  never-faint  Desire 
Must  crowne  thy  Life  with  correspondent  Death  : 
Though  by  sharp  pains  thy  Brethren  doe  expire, 
This  dainty  Martyrdome  must  end  ye  Breath 

Of  ye  BELO  VED  DLSCIPLE ;  onely  by 
Those  Flames  the  Phenix  lived,  must  it  dy. 


Wednesday  in  ye  Holy  Week 


WHO  doubts  how  Avarice  can  be 
Plaine  &  right-downe  Idolatrie, 
Neither  thy  Story,  Judas,  knows  nor  Thee. 
He  knows  not  how  a  little  poore 
Silver  mov'd  thy  Devotion  more 
Then  He,  whom  Men  &  Angells  all  adore. 

JESUS  the  Crowne  of  Heavn  &  Earth, 

From  whom  all  Glory  takes  its  birth, 
To  thy  Idolatrous  Heart  seems  little  worth : 

Worth  lesse  then  is  ye  meanest  Wight ; 

For  Moses  sure  hath  settled  right 
The  price  of  Man  in  his  Creators  sight. 

God  never  priz'd  a  Man  so  low 

As  thirty  silver  Peeces,  though 
He  were  as  wretched  &  as  vile  as  Thou. 

And  yet  canst  Thou  thy  God  &  Lord 

At  a  farr  lower  price  afford 
Then  He  has  valued  Thee  at  in  his  Word. 

And  Chapmen  Thou  canst  easily  find 
Resolv'd  to  traffique  to  thy  minde 

With  ready  money,  &  are  all  combinde, 

Combinde  to  gaine  this  Prize ;  since  they 
Gods  House  to  Trading  did  betray, 

Him  too  among  ye  Wares  account  they  may. 
149 


150     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

Unhappy  Wretch,  Thou  dost  to  day 
Not  thy  own  God  alone  betray, 

But  thy  despairing  Selfe  Thou  selFst  away. 
For  JESUS  still  though  sold  so  cheap, 
Is  worth  a  World  :  all  his  poor  Sheep 

Shall  still  from  Him  a  full  Redemption  reap. 


Thursday  in   Holy  Week 

GRIEFE  stay  a  while,  to  morrow  Wee 
Will  wait  on  Thee. 
Now  holy  Joy  must  take  it  part 
And  cheare  ye  Heart. 
Not  all  Hells  furie  can  say  nay, 
For  This  is  LOVES  great  Holyday. 

And  LOVE  to  day  most  nobly  feasts 

His  faithfull  Guests 
Great  is  ye  Cheer,  as  great  as  He 

Could  make  it  be  : 
If  ye  choise  Dainties  of  all  Heavn 
Is  this  high  Entertainment  given. 

For  on  ye  royall  Bord  is  set 

Illustrious  Meat 
Whose  noble  composition  is 

Of  Life  &  Bliss. 
Meat,  in  whose  pretious  Mixture  lies 
Such  Sweets,  as  Shame  old  Paradise. 

Nor  is't  a  drie  Feast,  here  is  wine 

Purely  Divine, 
Blood  of  ye  heavnly  Grape,  which  God 

Heer  planted  had  : 
A  Cordiall  Wine,  which  onely  can 
Truly  cheere  up  ye  Heart  of  Man. 

151 


152     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

For  in  ye  crowned  Bowie  doth  move 

The  Blood  of  Love. 
LOVE  his  own  dear  Heart-Blood  doth  spill 

The  Cup  to  fill 
With  streams  as  rich  &  sweet  as  they, 
Which  all  about  Gods  right  hand  play. 

All  Heavn  is  melted,  &  doth  drop 

Into  ye  Cup  : 
Which  smiling  there,  invites  each  Guest 

To  come  &  taste, 
Come  taste,  sayes  LOVE,  &  drink  in  MEE 
At  one  short  draught  Eternitie. 

Sit  downe,  Dear  Friends,  &  feast,  sit  downe ; 

All  is  your  owne  : 
I  came  to  dresse  this  cheer  below 

Onely  for  You  : 
No  Angell  shall  intrude  :  this  Fare 
I  did  for  humble  Men  prepare. 

And  must  ye  worst  of  Wormes,  Vile  Wee 

Feast  upon  Thee 
Immortall  LOVE}     Must  all  ye  Cheer 

Thou  makest  heer 
Be  spent  on  Wretched  Beggars  ?     Must 
That  pretious  Cup  be  spilt  on  Dust  ? 

Sure  Thou  art  LOVE  indeed,  pure  LOVE 
Which  dost  not  move 

By  Reasons  rigid  rules,  but  by 
The  Fervencie 

Of  its  owne  Fullnes.     Royall  LO  VE 

Will  make  it  selfe  its  Reason  prove. 


Goodfryday 

(To  a  Base  &  2  Trebles.) 


W 


EEP  &  spare  not : 
Good  eyes  are  not 
Of  use,  now  He  is  gone 
On  whose  sweet  eyes  alone 
They  dwelt,  &  liv'd,  &  lov'd,  &  read 
More  Heavn  then  in  ye  Sphears  is  spread. 
We  tender  not  our  dull  eyes  now  Wee  finde 
The  Eye  of  Heavn  it  selfe  to  Day  is  Blinde. 
Poore  Eyes,  what  have  you  left  to  see 
But  blackest  face  of  Miserie  ? 

Then  though  you  melt  &  waste 
With  your  owne  Tears  at  last ; 
Yet  We  care  not ; 
Weep  &  spare  not. 


i53 


Raster 


(To  a  Base  &  2  Trebles.) 


T 


EARS  have  done  : 
Our  Rising  Sun 
Shall  drie  you  up,  &  bring 
His  ever-smileing  Spring 
Of  purest  Joyes,  which  blest  at  first 
Old  Paradise,  where  they  were  nurst. 
What  though  that  Night  were  long  ?     This  gilded  Day 
Wears  on  his  Forehead  an  eternall  Ray. 
Now  JESUS  lives,  We  cannot  die 
Or  but  to  live  immortally. 

In  Him  w'  are  rose  again 
Before  Death  us  hath  slain. 
Then  sing  we  on, 
Tears  have  done. 

Chorus 

Rise  Heart ;  Thy  Lord  was  early  up,  arise 
And  sing  Him  now  his  Morning-Sacrifice. 


154 


Saturday  in  f  Holy  Week 


T 


HE  Sabbath  now 

Can  a  more  ample  Title  show 
Unto  its  Rest  since  God  againe 

Doth  now  refraine 
And  cease  his  Work,  a  Work  much  more 
Laborious  then  He  rested  from  before. 

The  Frame  &  fashion 
Of  this  huge  bulk,  ye  whole  Creation 
Cost  Him  no  more  pains  but  ye  speaking 

For  its  whole  making  : 
But  now  its  dear  Redemption  stood 
Him  in  his  Groanes,  his  Sweat,  his  utmost  Blood. 

His  weary  Head 
Rests  now  at  quiet  in  a  Bed 
Fast  sealed  up  &  fortify'd 

Strongly  beside. 
With  a  well  Armed  watch,  that  none 
May  stir  Him  till  He  wake,  &  rise  alone. 

For  Potent  He 
Will  teach  subdued  Death  to  be 
Onely  a  safe  &  sweet  Repose 

Unto  all  Those, 
Who  falling  into  their  last  sleep 
Commit  themselves  into  his  Hands  to  keep. 

i55 


156     Poems  of  Joseph   Beaumont 

O  happy  Grave ! 
Ne'r  could  ye  Beds  of  Princes  have 
Such  royall  honour  as  We  see 

Layd  up  in  Thee  : 
Not  Solomons  Couch,  though  Arabie  did 
With  all  its  Sweetest  Beds  go  there  to  bed. 

Our  Tombs  from  Thee 
Shall  learne  delicious  to  bee, 
Safe  Cabinets,  wherin  We  may 

With  comfort  lay 
Our  weary  bones,  &  rest  in  hope 
Till  ye  Worlds  generall  Crack  shall  set  them  ope. 


F 


Newyear  Day 

(To  a  Base  &  2  Trebles.) 

AIND  Janus  now  forget  thy  Name, 
And  both  thy  faces  hide  for  shame, 
The  Nobler  Face  of  Heavn  &  Earth 
Are  joynd  in  this  Great  Infants  Birth, 
Who  in  His  double  Nature  now  is  come 
To  ope  ye  Year  at  Bethlehem,  not  at  Rome. 

Shine  out  blest  Year ;  'twas  not  to  cause 
A  Blush,  that  Blood  drop'd  on  Thy  Face, 
Those  Circumcision  Drops  will  dresse 
Thee  in  bright  Purple  Blessednesse. 
The  Paschall  Lamb  doth  sprinkle  his  most  pure 
Blood  on  Times  Doore  to  keep  it  safe  &  sure. 

Sweet  Earnest  of  an  happy  Year, 
Which  on  thy  Front  all  Heavn  dost  wear 
Shine  out  Faire  Day,  yl  we  may  see 
That  fairer  Sunne,  which  smiles  in  Thee. 
Shine  out,  that  Heavn  &  Earth  may  have  ye  Grace 
To  read  ye  Name  thats  printed  on  thy  Face. 

O  downe  with  Heart,  &  downe  wth  knee 
Tis  Hee  that  made  both,  whom  we  see  : 
Behold  how  Hell,  Earth,  Heavn  &  all 
Downe  flat  to  Him  in  reverence  fall. 
The  radiant  Forehead  of  this  noble  Day 
The  Glorious  Name  of  JESUS  doth  display. 
i57 


Jan.  i.  1643 


AWAY    fond    Hopes,    built    upon    THREE    MONTHS 
HENCE 

And  on  ye  drienes  of  ye  spring: 

Mischeifs  post  faster  on 

Then  aged  Time  can  run, 
And  in  their  Traine  a  FALL  they  bring, 
'Gainst  which  ye  tender  SPRING  knows  no  defense. 

What  if  kind  Heavns  should  make  next  SPRING  as  dry 
As  are  our  stony  Hearts  or  eyes  ? 
The  BLOOD  already  sown 
Is  not  so  deep  sunk  down 
But  it  before  THREE  MONTHS  may  rise 
And  reach  our  foolish  Hopes  that  mount  so  high. 

But  sure  our  Sins  are  higher  grown  then  so, 
No  BLOOD  of  ours  can  wash  away 
Those  tall,  &  mighty  Things, 
Onely  ye  Stream  which  springs 
From  thy  dear  veines,  Sweet  LORD  can  stay 
And  staunch  that  Torrent,  which  so  high  doth  flow. 

Thy  potent  BLOOD,  though  ne'r  so  little,  may 
Performe  ye  Cure  :   Good  frydays  Even 
We  need  not  wait  to  see : 
O  let  ye  Medicine  be 
That  Earnest,  which  at  first  was  given 
Those  pretious  DROPS  Thou  shedst  for  Us  to  Day. 

158 


Jan.  i.  1643  159 


Our  Hopes  We  rather  build  on  this  WET  SPRING, 
Thy  young  Obedience  may  suffice 
For  our  old  Sins,  &  Wee 
With  joy  may  live  to  see 
Our  happiest  PEACE  from  BLOOD  arise, 
The  Soveraigne  BLOOD  of  our  triumphant  King. 


Purification  of  f  B.   Virgin 

(To  a  Base,  a  Tenor,  &  2  Trebles.) 

HOW  shall  Chrystall  purer  grow  ? 
What  shall  purge,  &  whiten  Snow? 
In  this  Sacred  Virgin-Mother 
Snow  &  Chrystall  joyne  together. 
What  shall  Days  faire  gate  adorne, 
What  shall  gild  ye  face  of  Morne  ? 
Ne'r  did  East  so  pure  as  Shee 
Beare  a  Sun  of  Majestic 

Yet  must  Chrystall,  yet  must  Snow, 

Yet  must  th'  East  to  clensing  goe  : 

By  no  Law,  but  onely  the 

Sweet  Law  of  Humilitie. 


160 


Purification  of  f  B.   Virgin 

S.  Luc  2.  24. 

MAY  We  have  leave  to  ask,  illustrious  Mother, 
Why  Thou  dost  Turtles  bring 
For  thy  Sons  Offring, 
And  rather  giv'st  not  one  Lamb  for  another  ? 

It  seems  that  golden  showre  wch  'tother  Day 
The  forward  Faithfull  East 
Pour'd  at  thy  Feet,  made  haste 

Through  some  devout  expence  to  find  its  way. 

O  pretious  Poverty,  which  canst  appeare 

Richer  to  holy  eyes 

Then  any  golden  prize, 
And  sweeter  art  then  Frankincense  &  Myrrh  ! 

Come  then,  that  Silver,  which  thy  Turtles  wear 

Upon  their  Wings,  shall  make 

Pretious  thy  gift,  &  speak 
That  Son  of  thine,  like  them,  all  pure  &  fair. 

But  know  that  Heavn  will  not  be  long  in  debt ; 

No ;  the  Eternal  Dove 

Downe  from  his  Nest  above 
Shall  come,  &  on  thy  Sons  dear  Head  shall  sit. 

161  M 


1 62     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

Heavn  will  not  have  Him  ransom'd,  heavns  Law 
Numb.  1 8,  17.  Makes  no  exception 

For  Lambs,  &  such  a  one 
Is  He  :  A  fairer  Lamb  Heavn  never  saw. 


He  must  be  Offerd,  nor  must  Thou  repine : 

Heavn  hath  a  Title  too, 

As  neer  &  sure  as  Thou ; 
And  He  is  Gods  Firstborne  as  well  as  Thine. 

He  must  be  Offerd,  or  ye  World  is  lost : 

The  whole  Worlds  Ransome  lies 
In  this  great  Sacrifice  j 

And  He  will  pay  its  Debt,  whate'r  it  cost. 

Nor  shall  these  Turtles  unrepayed  be, 
These  Turtles  which  to  day 
Thy  love  for  Him  did  pay  : 

Thou  ransom'dst  Him,  &  He  will  ransome  Thee. 

A  deare  &  full  Redemption  will  He  give 
Thee  &  ye  World  :  this  Son, 
And  none  but  this  alone 

By  His  owne  Death  can  make  his  Mother  live. 


T 


S.   Matthias 


HERE  must  be  Twelve;  ye  other  Sunn 
Thorough  no  fewer  Signes  doth  runn  ; 
Then  why  should  He,  whose  Zodiak  is 
As  heavnly  full,  &  faire  as  His ; 
And  whose  sweet  beams  doe  further  flie 
Then  Phebus  ever  could  descrie, 

Darting  out  Light 
On  those,  whom  Night 
And  Shades  of  Death  till  now  had  buried  quite 

Judas,  that  ominous  Signe,  is  now 
Falln  from  his  Orbe,  &  finds  below 
A  fitter  Region,  his  owne  Home, 
Where  Traytors  all  have  fitting  room, 
But  still  below  his  Throne,  who  there 
Reignes  King  of  Treason.     In  his  Sphear 
A  Vacancie 
Long  may  not  be, 
Plenty  of  stars  are  ready  heere,  you  see. 

But  two  of  Noblest  Magnitude 
The  great  Election  soon  conclude  ; 
Joseph  ye  Just  is  one,  the  other 
Is  good  Matthias,  Joseph's  brother 
In  every  beam  of  Virtue,  so, 
That  which  was  fairer  of  ye  two 
Is  far  above 
Mans  Art  to  prove 
Heavn  onely  knows  which  way  ye  scale  will  move. 
163 


164     Poems  of  Joseph   Beaumont 

Wherfore  to  Heavn  they  doe  referre 

To  judge  which  was  ye  worthier. 

The  Lots  are  cast ;  And  Heavn,  whose  Eye 

Into  all  Hearts  &  Reigns  doth  prie, 

Did  guide  ye  doubtfull  prize  to  goe 

On  brave  Matthias  side,  &  show 

How  he  had  more 
Of  Virtues  store 
Then  He,  who  in  his  Sirname  JUSTICE  wore. 

Illustrious  Saint,  We  bid  Thee  joy 
Of  thy  Preferment :  Now  thy  way 
Lies  fair  &  plaine  unto  a  Throne 
Of  endlesse  triumph,  built  upon 
Glories  immortall  Pillars,  where 
Thou  one  day  shall  inthron'd  appeare, 
And  from  that  great 
And  potent  Seat 
Judge  the  proud  Tribes  then  trembling  at  thy  feet. 


Ashwednesday 


R 


IGHT  Welcome  pleasant  bitter  Day 
Smiles  never  did  so  sweetly  play 
Upon  ye  sleek 
And  shining  cheek 
Of  Joy,  as  now 
On  thy  sterne  brow 
Severer  Frowns,  in  whose  black  furrows  lie 
Deep  sowne  ye  Seeds  of  true  Festivitie. 

O  how  much  sweeter  is  ye  Pill 
Which  honest  Bitternes  doth  fill 

With  healing  Powers, 
Then  all  ye  Flowers 
And  Creame,  y*  we 
And  Luxurie 
Suck  from  abundant  Diet's  treacherous  Breasts, 
Whose  Office,  sweetly  is  to  choke  Her  Guests. 

Let  Sugars  tempting  baits  be  spread 
On  things,  which  flatteries  help  doe  need  : 
No  need  hast  Thou 
Such  charmes  to  throw 
Upon  thy  face, 
Whose  potent  grace 
Though  spread  with  palest  ashes,  yet  can  move 
The  Noblest  Spirits  with  Thee  to  fall  in  love. 

For  in  those  Ashes  sure  there  lie 
Sparks  of  that  Fire,  wch  cannot  die  : 
165 


1 66     Poems  of  Joseph   Beaumont 

Embers  of  Love 
Which  nobly  prove 
Their  Royall  Race 
When  in  ye  Face 

Of  Heavn  they  flie,  &  with  full  fervour  rise 

In  flaming  Pietie  to  their  native  skies. 

Envy  no  other  Crowned  Day 
Who  art  a  purer  Feast  then  they : 

None  of  thy  Sweets 
Consist  in  Meats, 
And  things  where  Beasts 
May  be  ye  Guests  : 
Angelick  is  thy  Entertainement  since 
Thou  art  the  Festival  of  ABSTINENCE. 

A  Feast  wch  doth  invite  each  Guest 
Not  to  devoure,  but  to  Regest 

To  dense  ye  Heart 
And  every  Part 
Where  Luxurie 
Had  made  a  Stie  : 
A  Feast,  where  they  most  welcome  are,  &  most 
Merry,  who  of  ye  deepest  sadnesse  tast. 

A  Feast,  which  knows  no  other  wine 
But  what  is  Princely,  &  Divine, 

Which  grows  not  in 
Canarie's  sun 
Nor  Grecian  Hills ; 
A  Wine,  which  fills 
Gods  Sacred  Bottles  &  doth  onely  rise 
From  ye  fair  Fountaines  of  repentent  Eyes. 

A  Feast,  where  we  may  feed  &  be 

Fatned  up  for  Eternitie : 

And  learne  below 
How  We  may  grow 
Fit  for  that  Upper 
All-glorious  Supper, 


Ashwed  nesday  167 


Which  Gods  Magnificent  Lamb  doth  there  prepare 
For  those,  that  Feast  themselves  with  fasting  here. 

A  Feast,  whose  Musik  doth  rebound 
A  welcome  &  delicious  Sound 

Unto  His  Eares 
Who  tunes  ye  Sphears. 
A  Feast  where  Groanes 
And  dolorous  Tones 
Wait  on  each  draught  of  Teares,  whose  variation 
Makes  ye  grave  Musik  of  Mortification. 

Sit  downe,  Dear  Friends,  loe  a  soft  Bed 
Of  Ashes  here  is  ready  spread. 

Sit  downe  &  feast 
Your  fill :  at  least 
Sit  downe  to  cross 
Our  ancient  Losse ; 
Feed  here,  &  countermine  ye  envious  Devill, 
Being  as  Gods  discerning  Good  &  Evill. 


Annunciatto  B.V. 


c 


OME  every  Eare 
That  longs  to  heare 
News  though  most  strange,  yet  full  as  true 
As  ever  rung 
From  any  Toung, 
Or  from  Fames  widest  Trumpet  flew. 

Observe  you  there 

A  Messenger 
Faire  as  ye  Morne,  whose  noble  Wing 

All  pure  &  bright 

As  is  ye  Light 
Some  News  as  sweet  as  Day  doth  bring. 

And  tis  ye  Day 
The  World  did  pray 

So  long  to  see ;  The  World  which  sate 
In  a  dark  Night 
Till  now  this  Light 

Begins  its  dawne  from  Heavns  fair  Gate. 

It  is  no  lesse 

Then  Blessednesse 
Which  Gabriel  brings  ;  it  is  ye  News 

Of  God  who  now 

To  us  below 
Himselfe,  &  all  his  Bounty  shews. 
1 68 


Annunciatio   B.V.  169 


The  Mighty  One 

Gods  07iely  Son 
Sets  forth  to  Day,  &  Gabriel's  come 

His  Harbenger 

To  find  Him  heer 
A  Correspondent  Royall  Roome. 

And  that  can  be 
No  where,  sayes  He 

But  in  thy  revernd  womb,  sweet  Maid ; 
Where  this  great  Guest 
Will  take  his  rest 

And  in  that  private  Bed  be  layd. 

Haile,  Queen  of  Love ; 

Whose  Sweets  can  move 
The  Spouse  of  Hearts  to  lodge  with  Thee, 

And  hither  come 

From  his  bright  Home 
To  shrowd  in  thy  Virginitie. 

Inlarge  thy  Breast 
To  make  a  Nest 

For  the  Eternall  Dove,  who  now 

From  Heavn  will  hover 
With  thy  dear  Lover, 

To  place  Him  in  his  House  below. 

O  doe  not  fear 
To  lose  thy  Dear 

Virginitie,  who  art  design'd 

Above  all  other, 
In  whom  a  Mother 

Shall  with  a  Virgin  be  conjoynd. 

Be  but  content 

And  give  consent 
To  be  ye  Mother  of  thy  God 

That  we  may  see 

Againe  in  Thee 
The  budding  of  old  Aarons  rod ; 


170     Poems  of  Joseph   Beaumont 

And  by  thy  Seed 

Forever  tread 
With  noble  Vengeance  on  ye  Head 

Whose  craft  at  first 

Made  all  accurst, 
Who  from  ye  Woman  issued. 

HAILE  FULL  OF  GRACE; 

May  we  have  place 
To  heap  our  prayses  on  thy  Crowne, 

About  whose  wreathe 

All  Sweets  doe  breathe 
And  Heavns  illustrious  Joyes  are  throwne. 

May  we  have  leave 

To  think  old  Eve 
No  more  unhappy,  who  have  found 

The  Cure,  &  may 

With  Triumph  say : 
EVE'S  GALL  in  MARIES  SWEETS  are  drownd. 


Good  Fryday 


BUT  now  ye  Sceen  is  chang'd,  chang'd  is  ye  Day, 
Chang'd  from  it  selfe,  &  clad  in  strange  array 
Black  as  ye  News  it  brings  :  A  monstrous  Night 
Usurps  th'  amazed  houres  of  banish'd  Light, 
Bidding  ye  Sun  his  revernd  Eyes  forbeare 
And  snatch  all  Heavn  from  our  curs'd  Hemispheare. 
The  World  would  not  its  God  indure  to  see, 
And  why  should  Heavn  to  it  unveiled  be  ? 
Let  Night  take  Vengeance  on  that  treacherous  Noon 
Which  strives  t'  extinguish  Heavns  Eternall  Sun. 

Yet  shall  no  cloud  of  Night  or  Shame  forbid 
Our  eyes  attendance :  JESUS  is  not  hid 
To  those,  who  know  &  love  Him,  &  can  spie 
Ev'n  on  his  Crosse  his  true  Divinitie. 
A  glimpse  wherof  ye  Thiefe  with  greedy  Eyes 
No  sooner  stole,  but  straitway  He  descries 
This  most  abused  &  despised  Thing 
To  be  a  most  sublime  &  potent  King. 

And  so  had  need  to  be,  now  Hell  &  Earth 
Are  with  confederate  malice  marched  forth, 
And  well  appointed  come  into  ye  fight 
With  all  ye  furniture  of  warlike  spight, 
With  swords,  wth  staves,  wth  whips,  wth  spears,  wth  thorns, 
Wth  threats,  revilings,  Blasphemies  &  Scornes, 
Engins  prepar'd  on  purpose  to  prevaile 
Upon  his  Body,  &  his  Soule  assaile ; 
Engins  enough  against  a  Mortall  Foe  : 
And  might  have  conquerd  Him,  had  He  been  so. 

171 


172     Poems  of  Joseph   Beaumont 

But  He  is  their  Almighty  Friend,  whose  love 
The  whole  Worlds  armed  Hate  cannot  remove. 
He  fights  as  well  as  They,  &  with  more  force ; 
Yet  against  Them  bends  not  its  potent  course, 
Nor  thinks  it  can  His  Mighty  Arme  commend 
With  peevish  Dust  &  Ashes  to  contend. 
With  Heavn  He  grapples,  &  by  Valiant  cries 
Full  in  ye  face  of  Gods  great  Justice  flies. 
Striving  to  stifle  Vengeance,  w°h  was  now 
Upon  its  March  to  tame  ye  World  below. 
O  Noble  Combat !     Men  incounter  Him, 
He  wrestles  with  his  God  to  rescue  them. 

Father,  by  all  th'  inchanting  Powers  wch  lie 
Treasur'd  up  in  that  Sweet  Names  Epitomie, 
Regard  ye  Prayers  of  thy  Dying  Son 
Who  Dyes  for  what  He  prayes :  Let  me  alone 
Spend  all  thy  Quiver,  that  no  Arrow  may 
Be  left,  these  poor  unwitting  Men  to  slay. 
Hell  has  deceiv'd  them ;  tis  not  They,  but  Hell 
That  kicks  at  Heavn.     O  let  this  Blood  they  spill 
Wash  their  Mistake  away,  &  wooe  their  eyes 
To  answer  these  my  Wounds :  O  let  my  Cries 
And  sighs  rebound  from  thine  appeased  Eare 
Upon  their  Hearts,  &  raise  a  Tempest  there 
Of  penitentiall  sorrow  ;  so  shall  I 
See  them  begin  to  live  for  whom  I  die. 

O  blessed  JESU,  how  wilt  thou  repay 
Those,  who  shall  love  Thee,  &  thy  will  obey 
If  such  delicious  vengeance  Thou  dost  take 
On  them,  who  both  thy  Laws,  &  Body  break, 
Who  broach  thy  veins,  &  make  Thee  look  as  red 
With  blood,  as  they  with  Crimes  are  coloured ; 
Who  having  nay  Id  Thee  to  thy  Torments,  crie, 
Come  downe,  &  save  thy  Selfe  from  Miserie. 

O  no,  Thou  wilt  not  come ;  tis  not  thine  owne 
Deare  Life,  which  can  perswade  Thee  to  come  downe. 
Tis  not  thy  selfe,  but  them  yl  mock  at  Thee 
And  at  their  owne  prepar'd  felicitie 
Whom  Thou  desir'st  to  save :  ye  more  their  spight 
Heightens  their  Crime,  ye  more  thy  Love  doth  fight 


Good  Fry  day  173 


By  mediating  for  them  :  thy  desire 

Is  not  to  live  longer  then  to  acquire 

Their  Pardon,  who  are  busily  imployd 

In  murdering  Thee,  &  their  owne  Soules  beside. 

Now  therfore  hang'st  Thou  as  a  Mark,  wherat 
All  Tortures,  Pains,  &  Pangs  are  to  be  shot. 
For  these  Thou  woo'st,  &  these  are  easily  won 
No  Anguish  but  it  seeks  Thee  out,  not  one 
Inhumane  shamelesse  Torment,  but  can  find 
Some  way  to  sting  thy  Body  or  thy  Mind. 
Judas  his  monstrous  Fact,  ye  High  Priests  Sin, 
The  Peoples  obstinate  faults  come  flocking  in, 
Adams  &  Evfs  Rebellion,  every  Crime 
Which  hath  been  hatched  since  ye  birth  of  Time 
Or  which  ye  ending  Worlds  last  minute  shall 
Be  witnes  to  in  one  Black  Tempest  fall 
Upon  thy  single  Head  :  ye  mighty  Lord 
Of  ye  Worlds  Massy  Pillars  never  stood 
So  heavy  on  ye  Center,  as  on  thy 
Unpittied  Heart  this  long  Conspiracie 
Of  raging  rampant  Sorrow.     Yet  is  this 
Farre  from  ye  Masterpiece  of  thy  distresse. 

Some  comfort  would  it  be  if  Heavn  would  now 
A  gentle  &  propitious  aspect  show. 
But  no  kind  beam  peeps  from  ye  lowring  skie 
To  light  so  much  as  Hope :  ye  Fathers  Eye 
Is  shut  against  ye  Son  ;  oh  bitter  News  ! 
O  who  can  help,  if  God  to  help  refuse  ! 
Well  may  thy  desolate  State,  Sweet  JESU,  now 
Unto  thy  Patience  some  complaint  allow : 
Well  may  thy  wondring  Greife  thus  Question  make, 
O  God,  my  God,  why  dost  Thou  Mee  forsake ! 

And  we  will  wonder  too,  why  Rocks  &  Stones 
Deferre  their  Splitting,  now  such  mighty  Groanes 
Rend  all  ye  Heavns ;  &  why  ye  Graves  forbeare 
To  ope,  &  let  thy  trusty  Friends  appear 
And  rise  in  time,  if  not  to  rescue  Thee 
Yet  to  lend  Pitty  to  thy  Miserie. 

Surely  such  Griefe  as  thine  was  never  heard : 
The  whole  world  passeth  by  wthout  regard, 


1 74     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

Leaving  its  Pains  to  Thee ;  &  Thou  alone 
Who  need'st  it  most,  find'st  least  Compassion ; 
Thou  find'st  not  that,  which  Thou  to  all  dost  lend, 
All  are  thy  Foes,  whilst  Thou  to  all  a  Friend. 

O  King  of  Patience,  may  thy  Copie  be 
Incouragement  unto  our  Constancie. 
Afflictions  now  are  pretious  Things,  since  they 
Crown'd  thy  sweet  Head,  &  in  thy  Bosome  lay. 
May  Enemies  be  too  weak  to  force  us  to 
Hate  them  againe,  whom  thou  hast  loved  so. 
(Thy  Noble  love  to  them  has  made  them  prove 
Well- worthy  Objects  of  our  poorer  love.) 
So  shall  we  welcome  scornes,  &  hug  Disgraces ; 
So  shall  our  Armes  well  practiz'd  in  imbraces 
Professe  ye  best  of  Fencing  which  is  by 
All-patient  Love  to  conquer  Tyrannic 
So  shall  our  whips  &  Thorns  forget  to  Us 
That  ever  they  were  steep'd  in  Bitternes ; 
And  these  ye  Arrows,  those  shall  be  ye  Cords 
Which  Divine  Love  to  faithfull  Hearts  Affords. 
So  shall  thy  Noble  Crosse  to  our  esteeme 
The  Throne  of  Victory  &  Triumph  seeme. 
It  was  of  old  ye  Cursed  Tree,  but  Thou 
By  Death  ye  Tree  of  Life  hast  made  it  now : 
A  Tree  forever  verdant,  wch  doth  spread 
Its  shade  as  far  as  Heavn  its  light  doth  shed. 
With  humble  kisses,  &  with  Tears  of  joy 
May  We  acquaint  with  it,  &  let  no  Day 
Pass  wthout  thanks  to  our  delicious  King, 
Who  turnes  ye  Crosse  into  so  Sweet  a  Thing. 


Easter 


SLOW  Phoebus  thou  hast  slept  too  long ; 
Our  earlyer  song 
Long  since  awake  attended  on 
A  Fairer  Sun : 
A  Sun,  whose  Rise 
Summond  our  Eyes 
Betimes  to  pay  their  Morning  Sacrifice. 

Thou  quite  hast  lost  this  noble  Day : 
A  richer  Ray 

Prevented  thine,  &  gilds  ye  side 
With  Majestie 
Great  Jesus  light 
Hath  broke  from  Night 
And  sweetly  woo's  the  Worlds  admiring  Sight. 

As  from  her  Morning  balmy  Nest 

All  over  drest 
With  new  borne  beauties  Thou  hast  seene 

The  radiant  Queen 

Of  Birds  appeare  j 

So  riseth  here 
A  more  then  Phoenix  in  our  Hemispheare. 

His  Native  Tombe  was  sweetned  more 
With  odorous  store 

Of  Libanus  and  Arabie  : 

Or  rather  they 
Perfumed  were 
By  kissing  here 
The  feet  of  Him,  in  whom  all  Odours  are. 

175 


176     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

Nor  could  ye  Phaenix  ever  gaine 
So  far  a  Traine 

Of  wing'd  Attendants  ;  Paradise 
Now  hither  flies 
Upon  ye  Wings 
Of  these  Sweet  Things 
In  whose  eternall  Song  Gods  Glorie  rings. 

For  Angells  shining  all  in  white 

Answer  ye  Light 
Of  this  fair  Day ;  &  wait  upon 

The  reverend  stone 
Which  was  ye  Bed 
Where  He  lay  dead 
And  where  He  springs  afresh  inlivened. 

Yet  may  We  Night-birds  too  have  leave 
To  Day  to  heave 

Our  swarthy  Wings,  &  joine  with  Them 
To  wait  on  Him, 
And  His  fair  East, 
Which  knows  no  West 
Wherby  its  glorious  Day  might  be  supprest. 

Especially  seing  His  Great  Rise 

All  ours  implies, 
And  draws  them  after  it,  all  We 
Aforehand  be 
With  Death  &  are 
Past  its  cold  feare 
Now  He,  our  Head  revived  doth  appeare. 


S.    Mark 


TIS  not  thine  Alexandrian  Seat, 
Though  faire  &  great 
That  can  conteine  ye  fame 
Of  Thy  illustrious  Name, 
Nor  may  Venitia?i  Triumphs  satisfie 
The  debt  ye  world  ows  thy  dear  Memorie. 

The  furthest  Isles,  Great  Saint  must  pay 
Their  part  to  Day  : 
The  Sunns  all-piercing  Eye 
No  climate  can  descrie 
Remov'd  beyond  ingagement  unto  Thee, 
For  Light  much  fairer  then  from  Him  they  see. 

Our  Engla?id  all  innobled  by 
The  Historie 
Of  Blisse  &  Heavnly  Light, 
Which  thy  faire  Pen  did  write, 
Must  eccho  back  with  English  Pens  &  Toungs 
The  bounden  dutie  of  her  thankfull  Songs. 

For  surely  from  a  Cherubs  wing, 
Or  some  such  thing, 
Thou  pluck'st  that  Noble  Quill 
Which  writeth  Heavn  as  well 
And  true  as  Cliertibs  sing  it,  which  displaies 
That  very  JESUS,  whom  their  Anthems  praise. 

177  N 


178     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

Faire  it  displaies  Him ;  We  who  were 
Muffled  up  here 
In  mists  of  Death  &  in 
The  gloomy  shades  of  sin, 
Have  seen  his  Sweet  and  all-refreshing  East 
Set  ope  a  Wondrous  Day  in  this  our  West. 


We  read  thy  Book,  &  reading  kisse 

Those  leaves  of  Blisse 

And  unto  Him  appeale ; 

Whom  they  to  Us  reveale 

To  help  our  Thanks  :  onely  that  King  of  glory 

Whom  Thou  recordest,  can  reward  thy  Story. 


May-Day 

SS.  Philip  &  James. 

TO  Crowne  ye  Smileing  front  of  May 
And  double  gild  its  eldest  Day, 
Philip  &  James 
Two  radiant  Names, 
Both  full  &  faire 
Here  stamped  are, 
Whose  interwov'n  fraternall  Rayes 
Make  of  this  one  two  Holy-Dayes. 

Two  Holy  Dayes  to  Sacred  Mirth, 

Mirth,  wch  doth  cheer  both  Heavn  &  Earth. 

Heavn  gains  a  Pair 

Of  Stars  more  faire, 

Then  those  whose  light 

Spangles  ye  Night, 
And  Earth  though  loosing  them,  does  yet 
Triumph  that  they  in  Heavn  are  set. 

We  count  not  that  they  dy'd  to  day 
Who  now  begun  to  live  for  aye. 

The  Day  wch  paints 

The  Death  of  Saints 

With  purple  look 

In  ye  years  book 
Array eth  them  for  Life,  &  is 
Onely  ye  Birthday  of  their  Bliss. 
179 


180     Poems  of  Joseph   Beaumont 


For  Saints,  while  they  are  living  here 
But  all  ye  while  a  dying  are  : 
That  gasp  wch  we 
Fooles  think  to  be 
Their  dying  breath 
Breath's  out  their  Death ; 
It  breathes  it  out,  &  sets  them  free 
From  all  Laws  of  Mortalitie. 

Great  James  &  Philip  now  are  borne 
Twinns  of  one  everlasting  Morne, 

Where  happy  They 

Shall  meet  a  May 

More  Sweet  then  this 

They  ope  to  Us  : 
A  May  whose  blessed  Smiles  are  seen 
In  Paradise  for  ever  greene. 


8.   Philip 


TWELVE  golden  Trumpets  to  proclaime 
The  fairer  &  ye  richer  Name 
Of  JESUS,  by  Himselfe  were  chose, 
In  whose  great  Blast  his  Gospell  goes, 
And  rowseth  all  ye  World  which  lay 
Loud  snorting  in  ye  face  of  Day  : 
That  Day,  whose  Dawne  at  Bethlehem  broke, 
And  thence  its  East  all-glorious  took 
From  a  rare  Virgin  much  more  faire 
And  roseall,  then  the  Maiden  Aire, 
Which  wanton  fictions  finely  framed, 
And  delicate  Aurora  nam'd. 

One  of  these  royall  Trumps  was  He 
Whose  eccho  this  Festivitie 
Yields  back  in  praise :  In  vaine  ye  world 
Some  Nations  hath  in  corners  hurld 
Almost  beyond  Humanitie, 
Where  banish'd  &  forgot  they  lie, 
Living  nor  they,  nor  We  know  how 
Fast  Locked  up  in  ice  &  snow : 
Philip  has  fire  enough  to  melt 
More  Winter  then  yet  ever  dwelt 
About  ye  Pole,  or  friezed  up 
Barbarian  hearts ;  no  cold  can  stop 
The  most  unconquerd  fervencie 
Of  his  Apostolike  Charitie. 

He  hies  him  to  ye  North,  ye  place 
Stamp'd  with  Proverbiall  disgrace  ; 
The  Place,  whence  never  Goodnes  came, 
And  therfore  Goodnes  now  doth  frame 
181 


1 8  2      Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

His  journey  thither  :  Philip  there 
Finds  out  a  Clime  well  worth  his  care ; 
A  Clime,  where  though  ye  boistrous  Winds 
Breathe  endlesse  Frosts,  whose  rigor  binds 
The  captiv'd  Sea  &  Land,  &  where 
December  walks  through  all  ye  yeare  : 
Yet  are  ye  things  yl  should  be  Men 
More  stupid  &  congealed  then 
Their  frozen  Country,  &  will  show 
Farr  Lesse  relenting  in  a  Thaw ; 
For  Scythids  Clime  in  vaine  contests 
In  point  of  Cold  with  Scythian  Breasts. 

These  Breasts  are  they  our  Saint  makes  choice 
Wheron  to  trie  his  Flaming  voice. 
Much  Fire  he  spake,  &  spake  so  strong 
That  Conquests  waited  on  his  Toung. 
The  ice  of  Paganisme  he  brake 
And  there  a  generall  Thaw  did  make, 
By  which  ye  Penitent  floods  did  rise 
In  all  ye  Yielding  Peoples  eyes. 
The  Heavnly  heat  otJESU'S  LOVE 
In  their  inlightned  hearts  did  move, 
Whose  fertile  warmth  makes  them  grow  high 
In  fruits  of  Christia?i  Pietie. 
Thus  Scythia  is  flaming  now 
Ev'n  In  ye  midst  of  all  its  snow. 

Back  turns  ye  Saint  in  holy  haste 
Whose  great  imployment  was  to  last 
As  long's  his  life.     In  Asia  now 
A  likelyer  soile  he  strives  to  sow 
His  heavnly  Fire  :  Hierapolis 
His  new  selected  Garden  is. 
But  in  this  warmer  Clime  He  finds 
A  colder  Scythia  ;  fiercer  Winds 
Oppose  Him  here,  &  strive  to  blow 
Away  ye  Seed  his  Tongue  doth  sow. 
No,  here  are  Men,  whose  stomacks  can 
Never  digest  that  God  is  Man  ; 
Or  if  He  be  they  scorne  to  change 
Their  ancient  Jupiter  for  a  strange 


S.  Philip  183 


And  feeble  God,  whose  Crosse  &  Shame 

Blast  all  ye  Credit  of  his  Name. 

Nay  come,  say  They,  wee'l  make  of  Thee 

As  good  &  great  a  Dietie  : 

We  have  a  Crosse,  &  Nayles  wherby 

To  inthrone  thy  upstart  Majestie ; 

We  have  Contempt  &  Taunts  enough 

At  thy  despised  Head  to  throw, 

And  trie  if  thou  by  Patience  can 

Approve  thy  selfe  more  then  a  Man. 

And  welcome  all,  says  Philips  I 
By  these  Proofs  best  shall  testifie 
I  am  his  Servant,  &  dare  give 
My  life  for  Him,  by  whom  I  live. 
If  you  had  let  me  ope  ye  way 
Unto  your  Blisse,  you  could  not  pay 
Me  greater  thanks  then  your  blinde  wrath 
Freely  for  Me  devised  hath. 

Goe  then  Undaunted  Champion,  goe, 
Since  thine  owne  Heart  will  have  it  so. 
Drink  deep,  &  quench  thy  Noble  Thirst 
In  that  brave  Cup  He  drunk  of  first 
What  now  Thou  followst :  Take  thy  fill 
Of  greatest  Patience  :  &  spill 
That  Blood  which  burnes  so  in  thy  veins 
Loud  Challenging  all  wounds  &  paines 
To  let  it  out,  that  Thou  mayst  pay 
Thy  Lord  his  Blood  againe  to  Day 
As  Thou  art  able :  So  shall  Hee 
In  his  owne  Colour  seing  Thee, 
Thy  freedome  give  to  Thee  above 
In  ye  bright  Citie  of  his  Love. 
The  Citie  of  Delight  &  Blisse, 
The  truer  Hierapolis. 
Where  we  are  sure  Thou  wilt  not  cease 
Strongly  to  interceed  for  these 
Unhappy  Citizens,  whose  Hate 
Occasioned  thy  so  happy  State. 


aS".  James  Bp.   of  Jerusalem 

ALL  yee  whose  Pride  is  built  upon 
Some  generous  relation 
To  Noble  Kindred,  come  &  see 
A  Man  whose  Consanguinitie 
Intitles  Him  unto  a  Name 
Of  far  more  illustrious  Fame 
Then  that  big  Traine  of  Words,  wherby 
The  Stiles  of  Princes  swell  so  high  : 
Come  see  a  Man,  who  is  no  lesse 
Then  Brother  to  ye  Lord  of  Blisse. 

Yet  his  aspiring  Soule  is  not 
Content  with  this  alliance,  but 
With  brave  ambition  strives  to  be 
Neerer  in  Fraternitie 

Then  Natures  casuall  hand  had  plac'd  him, 
With  royall  Parents  when  it  grac'd  him. 
James  will  be  Father  to  his  owne 
Nobilitie,  &  wear  no  Crowne 
But  what  he  wins ;  by  Virtue  He 
Brother  to  f  Lord  will  be. 

Wherfore  all  his  Noble  paces 
With  faith  full  diligence  he  traces, 
Through  every  hard  Heroik  step 
Of  Life  &  Death  he  climbeth  up ; 
And  let  Jerusalem  witnesse  be 
Unto  this  great  Veritie  ; 
Jerusalem,  which  having  lost 
Its  Sceptre,  now  againe  may  bost 
Of  that  reverend  Throne,  wch  there 
This  glorious  Bishop  first  did  reare. 
184 


S.  James  Bp.  of  Jerusalem      185 

A  Throne,  but  not  of  pomp  &  state ; 
A  Throne  on  which  all  Meeknes  sate, 
A  Throne  of  Love,  a  Throne  wheron 
Reigned  pure  Devotion. 

Nor  could  lesse  expected  be 
From  Him,  whose  Life  was  Pietie, 
Whose  Meat  &  Drink  was  to  fullfill 
His  dearest  Masters  royall  will. 
Ne'r  did  ye  dangerous  Blood  of  grape 
Staine  his  most  abstemious  lip ; 
Onely  Virgin  Fountains  were 
Both  his  Cellars  &  his  Beere, 
Which  pure  &  coole  did  best  agree 
With  his  unspotted  Chastitie. 
Nor  did  ye  rampant  flesh  of  Beasts 
E'r  reek  in  his  grave  simple  Feasts; 
His  highest,  &  his  daintiest  Dishes 
Were  some  modest  sober  fishes, 
Meat  very  correspondent,  where 
Onely  water  serv'd  for  beere. 
Delicious  Oiles  did  never  wet 
His  Body  with  lacivious  Sweat, 
No  tender  Bath's  unmanly  heat 
His  hardy  skin  effeminate. 
O  no ;  behold  his  reverend  knee 
All  plated  with  austeritie, 
No  Camells  rigid  knee  can  show 
More  patient  Brawne  then  there  doth  grow  : 
For  on  ye  Temples  Marble  Floore 
So  oft  he  kneel'd,  that  what  before 
Was  tender  flesh,  is  now  all  one 
With  ye  Sacred  Pavements  Stone. 
Nay  ev'n  his  forehead  you  may  see 
Seal'd  with  ye  same  Severitie ; 
Prostration  in  his  Prayers  had 
There  ye  like  impression  made, 
And  mark'd  him  out  for  one,  whose  Zeale 
No  wearinesse  could  ever  feele. 

What  wonder  now,  if  He  no  more 
Can  hide  his  worth  as  heretofore, 


1 86     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

Which  all  ye  World  that  hath  but  eyes 
Ingraven  in  his  face  descries. 
Plaine  they  descry  it,  &  confesse, 
How  much  of  Heavn  it  doth  expresse : 
For  on  their  knees  all  in  his  way 
The  ravish'd  People  humbly  pray 
But  to  kisse  ye  utmost  hemme 
Of  that  robe,  y'  kisseth  Him  ; 
That  they  may  their  lips  therby, 
And  their  kisses  sanctifie. 
Nay  ye  high  &  sirly  Priest 
Convinced  is  among  ye  rest, 
And  his  great  Right  imparts  to  him, 
Who  a  worthier  Priest  doth  seeme  ; 
James  may  now  have  leave  into 
The  Sacred  Oracle  to  goe, 
And  injoy  ye  matchlesse  glory 
Of  that  Noble  Oratorie. 

But  Winds  &  Seas  more  trusty  far, 
And  constant  then  ye  People  are ; 
And  no  Nations  ever  use 
Such  shamelesse  Treason  as  ye  Jews. 
Jews  admire  &  love  to  day 
Him,  whom  to  morrow  they  can  slay ; 
Jews  can  with  the  same  lips  kisse  Thee, 
Which  by  &  by  shall  taunt  &  hisse  Thee. 
Jewish  Mouths  can  speak  all  good 
Of  Thee,  &  forthwith  suck  thy  Blood. 

'Twas  now  their  Passover,  a  Feast 
In  which  a  Lambs  blood  was  ye  best 
That  should  be  shed,  but  cursed  They 
Humane  veins  will  ope  to  Day 
JESU'S  Name  cSc  Doctrine  still 
Perverse  Jerusalem  did  fill 
With  zealous  Rage,  wch  will  not  see 
How  Maries  Son  the  Christ  can  be. 
James  therfore  now  must  plainly  show 
Whither  He  thinks  Him  so  or  no, 
And  from  ye  Temples  Battlement 
His  full  opinion  represent. 


S.  James  Bp.   of  Jerusalem       187 

Fooles  !  &  what  can  James  professe 
But  truth  of  Him,  who  is  no  lesse 
Then  Truth  it  Selfe  ?     He  knows  full  well 
How  on  this  very  Pinnacle 
His  Master  did  that  Foe  subdue 
Who  from  Hells  bottome  thither  flew. 
Him  therefore  He  proclaimes  aloud 
And  his  great  Truths  to  all  ye  Crowd : 
JESUS  IS  GOD  cries  He,  &  this 
Temple's  his  Fathers  House,  &  His. 
Jesus,  whom  on  ye  Crosse  you  nayld, 
Dy'd,  but  over  Death  prevaild, 
And  laden  with  Hells  spoiles  is  gone 
Home  unto  his  heavnly  Throne. 

At  this  th'  impatient  People  crie 
Intolerable  Blasphemie ! 
Downe  with  him  from  that  Holy  Place 
Which  he  profanes  :  The  Law  doth  passe 
His  capitall  Sentence  ;  Throw  him  downe 
Lest  We  make  his  Crime  our  owne. 

Madnes  was  ready  to  fullfill 
The  furious  Peoples  bloody  Will  j 
For  those  above  feard  not  to  throw 
The  Martyr  downe  to  them  below. 
Indeed  they  thought  they  threw  him  downe, 
But  helped  him  upward  to  his  Crowne. 
Saints  by  such  falls  as  these  rebound 
To  highest  Heavns  from  lowest  ground. 

Yet  James  by  this  not  fully  slaine 
Feeles  their  furious  Spight  againe : 
A  Fullers  club  was  soone  at  hand, 
And  Rage  as  ready  at  Command ; 
With  this  &  that  at  Him  they  flie, 
And  in  Him  at  Pietie. 
First  their  barbarous  ears  they  stop, 
Then  his  reverend  Head  break  ope, 
And  their  Monstrous  selves  they  staine 
With  his  Blood,  and  with  his  Braine. 

The  Passover  did  never  know 
A  Lamb  so  pure  &  mild  as  Thou 


1 88     Poems  of  Joseph   Beaumont 

Great  Saint  but  that  whose  eve  did  see, 

The  Holy  Lamb,  wch  dy'd  for  Thee. 

He  dy'd  for  Thee,  &  Thou  againe 

For  Him,  &  for  His  Truth  art  slaine  ; 

Slaine  indeed,  but  slaine  into 

A  better  Life  then  this  below ; 

A  Life,  which  will  exalt  Thee  higher 

Upon  a  fairer  Temples  Spire 

Then  whence  Thou  fell'st,  a  Temple  where 

In  Truth  is,  what's  in  Shadows  heere. 


Ascension 

(To  a  Base  &  2  Trebles.) 

LIFT  up  your  Heads  great  Gates,  &:  sing, 
Now  Glory  comes,  &  Glories  King ; 
Now  by  your  high  all-golden  way 
The  fairer  Heavn  comes  home  to  Day. 

Hark  now  ye  Gates  are  ope,  &  heare 
The  tune  of  each  triumphant  sphear, 
Where  every  Angell  as  He  sings 
Keeps  time  with  his  applauding  Wings, 
And  makes  Heavns  loftiest  Roofe  rebound 
The  Treasures  of  this  Noble  sound 

Hallalujah  : 
Which  our  poor  Tongues  shall  as  they  may 
Restore  to  them  againe  &  say 
Hallelujah. 


uSo 


A 


scension 


T 


HE  time  is  come 

For  Times  Great  Lord  to  think 
of  Home : 
A  Home :  but  not  to  Him  alone, 
Who  goes  to  find  a  Mansion 
For  Us,  who  be 
As  well  as  he 
Pilgrims  in  this  wild  World  of  Miserie. 

He  goes  before 
To  ope  the  everlasting  doore  : 
Come  Cherubim^  Resign e,  saith  He 
Your  flaming  Sword  &  Custodie, 

That  Adam  may 

Againe  to  Day 
Find  into  Paradise  his  open  way. 

For  I  must  now 
Keep  open  House  for  all  below, 
Who  will  accept  my  invitation, 
And  come  to  this  great  Preparation  : 

My  Servants  all 

Shall  goe  &  call 
All  Tribes  &  Nations  to  this  Festivall. 

Sweet  Cloud,  whose  back 
A  Chariot  soft  &  cool  did  make 
For  our  Great  Ascendant^  wee 
This  Privelege  doe  envy  Thee. 
190 


Ascension  191 


Were  not  ye  Wings 
Of  Angells,  Things 
More  fit  to  carry  home  the  King  of  Kings  ? 

Yet  seing  He 
Is  so  well  content  with  Thee, 
Wee,  Things  as  sleight  &  vaine  as  Thou, 
Will  take  Us  pious  Courage  now ; 

Our  Hearts  shall  raise 

A  Cloud  of  Praise 
Upon  ye  soft  Wings  of  our  sweetest  Layes. 

Thus  as  We  may 
Will  We  attend  Him  in  His  way ; 
And  as  He  goes  our  Song  shall  move 
In  a  tune  as  high  as  Love 

Can  reach;  as  high 

As  We  can  flie 
By  stretching  up  our  thankful  Fervencie. 


(The  Hymn  Sett  to  5  Parts  for  voices  &  violls.  by  R.  C.) 

Halalujah  : 
Hark  how  ye  joy  full  Heavns  rebound 
The  Triumph  of  this  welcome  sound  : 
Halalujah. 
For  they 
To  Day 
Shall  repossessed  be 
Of  what  makes  Heavn,  Joyes  Treasurie. 

Halalujah. 
Ne'r  did  Triumphant  Conquerour  wear 
Spoiles  so  rich  &  vast  as  here : 
Halalujah : 
For  see 
How  Hee 


1 92     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

His  Banner  stained  hath 
With  ye  Heart-blood  of  Hell  &  Death. 


Halalujah  : 
Great  Lord  of  Life  &  Death,  too  meane 
Is  this  our  World  to  lodge  Thee  in  : 
Halalujah : 

Thy  Throne 
Alone 
Now  full  as  big  must  be 
As  all  ye  Heavns  capacitie. 

Halalujah. 
Goe  then  &  may  the  Aire  to  Day 
Its  sweetest  Gales  blow  in  thy  way. 
Halalujah  : 
And  as 
They  passe 
O  let  thy  gracious  Feet 
Print  Blessings  on  ye  Clouds  they  meet. 

Halalujah. 
Our  long  Adieu  we  take,  but  yet 
Not  for  ever  take  We  it : 
Halalujah  : 
Farewell 
Untill 
We  meet  againe,  for  We 
Doubt  not  thy  bright  Returne  to  see. 

Halalujah. 
High-mounted  on  a  Cloud  wilt  Thou 
Returne  as  Thou  ascendest  now  : 
Halalujah  : 
Farewell, 
Yet  still 
We  must  have  leave  to  say, 
No  Cloud  shall  beare  Thee  all  away. 


Ascension 

Halalujah. 
Thy  pretious  Name  &  Memorie 
Inhabitants  with  Us  shall  be : 
Halalujah. 

Our  Layes 
Shall  raise 
Their  Noble  Praises  high, 
And  their  Ascension  thus  supply. 


!93 


Whitsunday 

(For  a  Base  &  2  Trebles.) 

BUT  now  Heavn  comes  againe  ye  Same 
It  went,  though  in  another  Name 
It  went  ye  Son,  but  here 
It  comes  ye  Comforter. 
O  blest  &  strange, 
O  sweet  exchange ! 
LOVE  has  made  ye  Bargaine  even 
We  did  but  part  with  Heavn  for  Heavn. 

Look  how  ye  Stars  come  showring  downe, 
Ambitious  now  to  be  ye  Crowne 
Of  Mortall  Heads,  where  they 
Divided  Flames  display. 

Sweet  Crowns,  your  shape 
Was  not  by  hap : 
Right  are  the  Churches  Temples  crown'd 
When  cloven  Mitres  them  surround. 

All  Babells  Tongues  and  more  then  they 
In  these  sweet  Cloven  Flames  doe  play : 
Which,  though  Divided,  sure 
Will  that  Division  cure. 
No  feare  but  now 
Our  Tower  may  grow 
High  as  its  Hopes ;  ye  Church  may  rise 
Compleat,  &  meet  ye  equall  skies. 


194 


Whitsunday 

(To  a  Base  &  2  Trebles.) 

FOUNTAINE  of  Sweets,  Eternall  Dove 
Which  leav'st  thy  glorious  Perch  above, 
And  hov'ring  downe,  vouchsafest  thus 
To  make  thy  Nest  below  with  Us  : 
Soft,  as  thy  softest  feathers,  may 
We  find  thy  Love  to  Us  to  Day  j 
And  in  ye  Shelter  of  thy  Wing 
Obteine  thy  leave  &  Grace  to  sing 
Halalujah. 


95 


T 


Whitsunday 

(To  a  Base  &  2  Trebles.) 

HY  heavnly  Kingdome  heere  below 
Now  like  it  selfe  Dear  Lord  doth  show, 
And  needs  no  Metaphor  to  tell 
How  Loftie  Things  beneath  can  dwell ; 
Now  thy  Celestiall  Flames  are  hither  sent 
To  light  ye  Stars  of  Earths  new  Fermament. 

How  bright  they  shine  !  Brave  Stars  whose  Light 
Spreads  Day  upon  ye  Face  of  Night ! 
And  gilds  ye  furthest  Shades,  which  lie 
Hid  from  ye  Upper  Heavns  great  Eye. 
Coasts  to  ye  glaring  Sun  unknowne  shall  say, 
Welcome  Sweet  beams  of  bright  Religious  Day. 

These  Heavn's  thy  Glory  shall  declare, 
And  with  thy  Prayses  fill  ye  Aire, 
The  Tongue  of  this  Great  Day  shall  send 
Thy  Name  unto  ye  Worlds  vast  end. 

Where  e'r  it  lists  this  Spirit  shall  blow,  &  find 

Its  Chariot  on  ye  Wings  of  every  Wind. 


196 


Whitsunday 

(To  a  Base  &  2  Trebles.) 

TUNE  We  our  Heart  strings  high, 
And  to  the  Heavnly  Dove 
As  we  are  able,  flie 
On  Vocall  Wings  of  Love. 
To  Him  our  Thanks  and  Prayses  pay 
In  all  the  Tongues  He  gave  to  Day. 


197 


Whitsunday  1644 


WHAT  though  the  Fiends  have  chang'd  their  Place, 
Though  Shamelesse  Hell  dare  show  its  face 
So  big  &  black  in  our  sad  sphear 
And  stare 
Upon  the  Sunne  ?  though  War 
Its  bloody  Mouth  doth  ope 
Threatning  to  swallow  Hope 
Almost  ye  onely  Relict  that 
Is  undevoured  ?     Yet  must  we  not 
Betray 
That  little  mighty  stay 
Seing  This  is  Comforts  Holy-Day. 

When  Truth  went  home,  He  left  behind 
The  Word,  which  now  so  true  we  find ; 
The  Comforter  PI  send,  sayd  He ; 
And  we 

This  Feast  of  Comfort  see. 

To  Day  the  Comforter 

Broke  from  his  loftie  Sphear 
And  brought  his  sweet  Omnipotence 
To  conquer  feares,  &  chase  them  hence. 
And  though 

Dangers  still  swarme  below, 
They'r  but  to  trie  our  Courage  now. 

The  Comforter  will  not  deny 
Matter  for  Faith  &  victorie  : 
Nor  could  He  be  a  Comforter 
If  heere 
198 


Whitsunday    1644  199 

No  Enemies  did  appeare. 

Tis  our  advantage  now 

That  Hee  does  Foes  allow, 
Who  allwayes  ready  is  at  hand 
To  conquer  what  doe  Us  withstand. 
Doe  Yee 

But  dare  to  fight,  says  He, 
And  if  you  faile  complaine  of  Mee. 

How  should  We  faile,  Dear  Lord,  when  thy 
Allmighty  Hand  does  Strength  supply? 
Had  We  but  Faith  in  this  Great  Day, 
Dismay 

Would  vanish  quite  away. 

O  win  our  Soules,  &  wear 

The  Spoiles  Thou  come'st  for  heere : 
Help  Us  to  fix  our  Trust  in  Thee, 
So  shall  our  greatest  Conflicts  be 
An  Art 

To  exercise  each  part, 
But  most  of  all  to  breathe  our  Heart. 

So  shall  this  happy  Exercise 
Be  but  a  Trade  of  Victories ; 
And  whilst  one  hand  does  fight,  ye  other 
Shall  gather 

Balmes  for  his  conquering  Brother : 

Which  both  of  them  shall  bring 

To  Thee  their  mighty  King : 
And  at  thy  Feet  shall  throw  them  downe, 
Being  not  theirs,  but  all  thine  owne. 
Poore  Wee 

Can  never  Victors  be 
Unlesse  by  thy  Sole  Potencie. 


Trinitie  Sunday 

(For  a  Base  &  2  Trebles.) 

FOND  Syllogismes,  in  vaine 
You  arme  your  Propositions  Three 
Against  Religious  Trinitie. 

Alas,  what  need  you  straine 
To  run  so  mad  with  Reason,  &  excell 
In  wrangling  all  your  Masters  into  Hell. 

Must  Faith  &  Heavn  goe  learne 

Reason  of  Arius  ?     Must  ye  Son 

Be  God  no  longer  then  Art  can 

The  Mysterie  discerne, 

And  by  pure  Demonstration  teach  ye  Eye 

How  th'  Angles  in  the  Eternall  TRIGON  lie  ? 

Fooles,  we  would  not  maintaine 
Our  ONE  in  THREE,  &  THREE  in  ONE, 
If  your  best  Demonstration 
Could  wisely  it  explaine. 
No :  Tis  a  Mysterie,  &  shall  ever  quell 
Both  Arius,  &  all  other  Gates  of  Hell. 

Come  Faithfull  Hearts  &  sing : 
All  Saints  &  Angells  will  conspire 
To  fix  ye  Consort  of  your  Quire  : 
They  know  your  Mystik  King  : 
And  in  their  everlasting  Anthems  crie 
(Chorus)  Thrice  HOLIE  HOLIE  HOLIE  TRINITIE. 

200 


Trinitie  Sunday 


HOW  well  This  dawns  next  that  illustrious  Feast, 
Which  brought  ye  Heavnly  Dove  from  his  high  Nest ! 
The  whole  yeare  did  proclaime  the  Father's  Name, 
Christmasse  ye  Sons,  &  Pentecosts  Sweet  Flame 
The  Sweeter  Spirit :  How  'twas  time  that  We 
This  TRIPLE  ONE  is  one  Dayes  Unitie 
Should  celebrate :  time  that  our  Triumphs  now 
Full  Catholik  &  Orthodox  should  grow : 
Time  that  our  Joyes  be  Mysticall  &  high, 
Learning  in  one  devout  Loveknot  to  tie 
A  Trinitie  of  Feasts.     Hence  faithlesse  Yee 
Whither  of  Arius  long-damned  stock  ye  bee, 
Or  of  ye  later  but  the  ranker  Weed, 
Which  taints  ye  Churches  Garden,  goe  &  feed 
On  your  drie  Syllogismes,  &  with  your  stout 
And  witty  impudence  still  face  it  out 
That  they  much  sweeter  &  more  wholesome  be 
Then  Angells  Bread  the  HOLY  TRINITIE. 
Leave  Us  our  Sweets,  &  call  them,  if  you  will 
Fooles  Paradise  :  We  are  contented  still 
With  Truth  and  Blisse  on  any  termes  ;  &  though 
We  seem  such  easy  credulous  Fooles  to  you, 
JESUS  to  Us  is  wisdome  made,  Evn  He 
Who  is  the  wisdom  of  Eternitie. 
Nor  shall  those  Serpents  Hises,  whose  fell  Toungs 
Lurk  under  yours,  disturbe  our  faithfull  Songs  : 
That  everlasting  Mystik  harmonie. 
Whose  sweetnes  dwelleth  in  ye  TRINITIE, 
Invites  our  Musiks  eccho ;  &  this  Feast 
Of  DIVINE  CONSORT  fits  an  Hymne  ye  best. 
20 1 


20  2     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 


HYMNE 

(To  be  sung  \vth  three  voices.) 


I     PART 


Xs.    i.      A    SK  not  how  the  thing  can  be, 


;a 


2.  J~\     But  adore  the  Mysterie 

3.  THREE  IN  ONE  chA°r-  &  ONE  IN  THREE. 


Xs.   1.  Faiths  Eye  does  not  double  see, 

2.  But  treble,  yet  in  Unitie 

3.  Seeing  ONE  chA°r'  it  seeth  THREE. 


Xs.   1.  The  Sacred  Knot's  the  Deitie 

2.  Tied  up  close  in  Unitie 

3.  Yet  tied  up  chA°r'  in  Persons  THREE. 


2D    PT. 

Xs.  O  TRIPLE  UNITIE 
We  humbly  offer  Thee 

One  Songs     A   '  Triplicitie. 


Xs.  As  Thou  art  One     A  '  may  We 

All  One  together  be, 

And  One  at  length  with  Thee. 


So  shall  our  harmonie 
By  no  time  measured  be, 
But  by  Eternitie. 


Trinitie  Sunday  203 

3D    PT. 

Xs.  For  when  this  brittle  voice  shall  be 
Cracked  by  our  Mortalitie, 
Cho.  Our  Hearts  shall  cleerer  sing  to  Thee  : 

Xs.  When  hence  we  are  released  to  see 
The  beams  of  thy  Divinitie, 
Cho.  We  shall  be  cheerlyer  being  free. 

Then  next  thy  Angells  Harmonie 
Our  Prayses  shall  resound  to  Thee 
Which  We  will  tune  by  their  high  Key 
Halalujah. 


S.   Philip  f  Deacon 

June  6 

FAITH,  thou  art  boundless ;  not  one  Graine 
Of  Thee,  but  doth  more  weight  conteine 
Then  vastest  Mountains :  Yet  full  well 
Thou  In  Mens  narrow  Hearts  canst  dwell, 
Which  Mystick  Cells  ye  lesse  they  be 
And  humbler,  allways  yeild  to  Thee. 
The  larger  roome  : 
Thou  lov'st  to  come 
To  such  as  these  with  all  thy  Noble  Traine, 
And  fixing  there  thy  potent  Throne  doth  reigne. 

And  Thus  of  old  in  Philips  breast 
Thou  kept'st  thy  Court ;  so  great  a  Guest 
We  never  knew  herselfe  bestow 
Under  a  roofe  more  poor  &  low. 
Yet  with  such  glory  didst  Thou  there 
On  thy  commanding  Throne  appeare, 
That  thy  strong  hand 
None  dares  withstand 

But  all  Samaria  doth  acknowledge  Thee 

Her  best  &  gentlest  Conquerour  to  be. 

Sturdy  Diseases,  wch  could  dare 
All  Physiks  Powers,  modest  are 
Before  ye  face  of  Philip,  and 
Aw'd  by  his  conquering  Command  : 
204 


S.   Philip  ye  Deacon  205 

Rather  then  they  with  Men  will  fight 
Against  themselves  they'l  turne  their  spight 
And  by  &  by 
Grow  sick  &  dy  : 
And  well  ye  Servant  Sicknes  may  destroy, 
Whose  Master  lately  Death  itselfe  did  slay. 


But  these  were  easy  Cures :  His  Art 
Wrought  cheifely  on  ye  inmost  Heart, 
By  Teaching  it  a  Life  to  live, 
Wch  mortall  Seed  could  never  give : 
A  Life  wch  might  ye  First-fruits  be 
And  Dawne  of  Immortalitie. 

He  rubs  ye  rust 
From  off  ye  Dust, 
And  fairely  prints  Heavn  in  its  Head  :  for  where 
JESUS  is  stamp'd  ye  sweetest  Heavn  is  there. 


No  Thunders  Rage  so  dreadfull  is 
To  our  most  timorous  ears  as  this 
All-conquering  Name  appears  to  those 
Who  are  Mans  everlasting  Foes : 
They  exercise  ye  utmost  skill 
That  could  be  forg'd  &  hatch'd  in  Hell 
To  fortifie 
Themselves,  &  trie 
Whither  their  Immortall  Legions  cannot  be 
As  strong  as  one  poore  Mortall  Enemie. 

They  trie  indeed ;  but  trie  in  vaine, 
Still  Philip  Victor  doth  remaine ; 
And  As  ye  mighty  Tempest  throws 
The  Sea  before  't  where  e'r  it  goes ; 
So  doth  his  Potent  Voices  Blast 
Foameing  &  roaring  Spirits  cast 

Out  from  Mens  breasts 
The  Proper  Nests 
Of  a  Mild  Spirit :  for  there  should  onely  dwell 
The  Dove  of  Heavn,  &  not  these  Ravens  of  Hell. 


206      Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

Black  Simon  startled  much  to  see 
The  Forces  foild,  &  routed  He 
Had  sided  with,  swells  wth  Disdaine, 
And  falls  to  rave  &  curse  amaine : 
Now  all  yee  Powers  below,  full  well 
And  justly  are  yee  damnd  to  Hell, 
If  yee  whose  Pride 
Did  swell  too  wide 
For  Heav'n,  if  yee,  who  feard  not  to  oppose 
The  great  Eternall  yeild  to  Mortall  Foes. 


Blame  not  their  God ;  the  Place  is  due, 
And  they  succeed  in  right  to  you 
If  they  can  beat  you  thus  :  Poor  Fiends, 
Ev'n  We  your  best  &  surest  Friends 
Sham'd  by  your  weaknes,  shall  no  more 
The  Deitie  of  Hell  adore ; 

No  more  shall  We 
Spit  Blasphemie 
Against  ye  God  of  Heavn  at  your  Devotion, 
If  Earth  can  intercept  Hells  strongest  Motion. 

Look  how  Samaria  laughs  at  Me 
Conquered  by  Philips  Potencie  : 
Look  how  great  Belzebubs  dread  Name 
Shrinks  into  Nothing  at  ye  fame 
Of  upstart  JESUS,  whilst  we  straine 
And  play  ye  Devills  all  in  vaine. 
No  furie  could 
Have  stoutlier  stood 

For  your  accursed  Cause,  then  I  have  done, 

Nor  earn'd  a  gallanter  Damnation. 

And  must  I  now  be  foold,  must  I 

Stoop  unto  any  Deitie 

But  thine  great  Lucifer  \  &  now 

In  Spells  &  charmes  I  aged  grow 

Be  thus  out-conjur'd  by  a  new 

And  not  hard  Name  ?  the  words,  wch  you 


S.  Philip  ye  Deacon  207 

Upon  my  Tongue 
Did  print,  were  strong 

And  dismall  barbarous  Sounds,  but  Philip  by 

One  sweet  &  easy  Name  doth  them  dene. 

Me  thinks  had  I  thy  Homes  &  Voice 

Dread  Satan,  by  my  Looks  &  Noise 

I  could  affright  ye  Stars,  &  throw 

The  torne  Heavns  headlong  downe  below. 

Had  I  thy  doubled-steeled  Paws 

And  thy  long  Adamantine  Claws. 
Anew  I'd  tosse 
That  Christ  to's  Crosse 
Where  e'r  he  lurks,  nor  any  Nailes  would  need 
To  fix  Him  there,  but  what  my  fingers  bred. 

For  Shame  renounce  thy  baffled  Throne 

And  let  ye  Airs  Sweet  Realme  alone 

To  Him  yfc  rules  in  it ;    Goe  dwell 

A  Coward  in  ye  holes  of  Hell : 

Thy  conquerd  Head  &  Shame  goe  hide 

In  thy  old  Night,  where  by  thy  side 
Deaths  &  Despairs 
Thy  Comforters 
Shall  bid  Thee  welcome  home,  &  make  thee  be 
Content  with  that  sole  Principalitie. 

Search  there  ye  black  Records,  &  send 
If  thou  canst  find  them,  to  thy  Friend 
Some  choice  Receits,  &  charmes,  wch  yet 
Were  never  belched  from  thy  Pit : 
Once  more  I'l  trie  for  Hell  &  Thee ; 
But  if  I  faile,  farewell  for  Mee 

Devills  &  Feinds, 
I'l  get  me  Friends 

With  Philip ;  blame  not  what  you  taiight  me,  Pride ; 

Though  against  Hell,  I'l  take  ye  nobler  side. 

Thus  vex'd,  ye  Wizard  does  his  best 
Great  Philips  Power  to  resist ; 


208     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

But  finds  him  selfe  too  weak  to  fight 
With  holy  Faith's  Mysterious  Might, 
Which  so  amazeth  him,  yl  he 
No  longer  dares  its  Enemie  be  : 
He  yeilds,  &  cries 
I  sacrifice 
My  black  &  weak  Profession  to  the  Light, 
Which  from  ye  Crosse  doth  break  so  strong  &  bright. 

Victorious  Saint,  thus  at  thy  Feet 
Convinc'd  &  conquerd  lies  ye  Great 
Champion  of  Darknes  ;  Heare  how  He 
Beggs  for  his  better  Life  of  Thee. 
Grant  Him  his  Prayer,  &  drench  Him  in 
The  Fountaine  purgative  of  sin  ; 

The  Fount,  wch  will 
Quench  all  ye  Hell 
That  flam'd  in  Him ;  unlesse  releas'd  in  vaine 
He  throws  Himselfe  into  ye  Fire  againe. 


S.   Barnabas 


Acts  14 

TIS  not  so  poore  a  thing  to  be 
Servants  to  Heavn,  Deare  Lord,  &  Thee 
As  Earth  would  make  it ;  no  not  heere 
In  thy  Humilities  low  Sphear ; 
Not  heer  where  scoffings  &  Disgraces 
Use  to  be  heaped  on  their  faces, 
As  on  thy  blessed  Selfe  they  were 
When  Thou  didst  breathe,  &  grace  our  Aire. 
Through  thine  owne  humble  veile  there  broke 
Sometimes  such  Noble  Beams  as  spoke 
The  Sun  within  :  Let  Tabor  be 
Witnesse  to  this  faire  Veritie. 
Thus  didst  Thou  prove  Thy  Selfe  j  &  thus 
Assert'st  thy  Saints  illustrious 
By  Glimpses  of  that  Glory  Thou 
Aforehand  dost  on  Them  bestow. 

This  royall  Splendor  faire  did  rise 
In  all  ye  wondring  Lystrians  eyes, 
Whilst  they  beheld  what  Power  there  was 
Dwelling  in  Paul  &  Barnabas : 
One,  who  since  first  he  came  into 
The  world,  in  it  could  never  goe 
On  Natures  errands,  leapeth  now, 
And  feeles  his  feet  obedient  grow 
To  Pauls  command  :  No  Lamenesse  dares 
Be  lame,  where  so  great  Power  appeares. 
But,  let  what  weakness  will  say  nay, 
Forthwith  finds  legs  to  run  away. 

209  p 


210     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

Away  that  runs,  &  in  its  roome 
The  ravish'd  People  crowding  come  : 
Great  Names  of  Gods  (though  Gods  alas 
Lesse  reall  then  those  Names)  did  passe 
For  current  in  their  Pagan  Creed  : 
But  now,  say  they,  we  have  no  need 
Of  perblinde  Faith,  who  cleerly  see 
Naked  &  plaine  Divinitie 
Walking  &  working  heer ;  nor  shall 
Those  vocall  masks,  ye  Names  of  Paul 
And  Barnabas,  snatch  from  our  Eyes 
Our  Two  Omnipotent  Deities  : 
Paul  is  not  Paul,  but  noble  He 
Is  ye  most  eloquent  Mercuric ; 
And  Barnabas  no  lesse  then  Jove 
Father  of  all  ye  Gods  above. 
For  Gods  they  are  though  clothed  in 
The  Garb  &  countenance  of  Men. 

Now  comes  ye  Priest  of  Jove,  &  brings 
His  fattest  finest  Offerings, 
Selected  Oxen,  &  ye  Pride 
Of  every  beauteous  Garden,  tye'd 
In  dainty  Garlands,  so  to  please 
And  welcome  their  grand  Deities. 
And  who  shall  heer  forbid,  says  He, 
Great  Jupiters  High  Priest  to  be 
True  to  his  Office,  &  to  day 
Unto  his  God  his  homage  pay  ? 

Why  that  will  We,  cry  They,  for  whom 
This  Pompe  &  Sacrifice  is  come. 
Behold  we  rend  our  clothes,  &  know 
Our  Hearts  are  wounded  more  then  so, 
To  think  that  you  should  Us  adore, 
Who  are  as  brittle  &  as  poore 
Dust  as  your  Selves ;  &  Him  neglect, 
Whom  We,  you  worship  so,  respect 
As  onely  God  &  greater  far 
Then  your  greatest  Jupiter. 
A  God  that  made  both  Him  &  you, 
Both  Things  above,  &  Things  below, 


S.   Barnabas  211 

A  God  whose  Clouds  doe  drop  on  Us 
A  seasonable  fruitfullness, 
And  wet  Joves  rotten  Grave,  from  whom 
You  needs  will  dreame  ye  Raine  doth  come. 
Alas  we  were  more  Lame  than  He, 
Whom  heer  We  heal'd  to  day  could  be 
Untill  our  God  helped  us  j  &  now 
That  onely  God  we  preach  to  you. 

And  thus  indeed  our  Saints  did  stay 
The  Peoples  Sin  j  but  ope'd  a  way 
To  greater  glory  :  Noble  odds 
They  now  have  gaind  on  Pagan  Gods, 
Who  might  have  had,  but  did  despise 
Ev'n  Jupiters  owne  sacrifice. 
Thus  To  be  JESUS  Servants,  speaks 
More  royall  Splendor  far  then  breaks 
Forth  from  ye  most  Majestike  Throne 
That  Heathen  God  e'r  sate  upon. 


S.   John   Baptist 


w 


HEN  Nights  black  houres  be  almost  spent, 
And  her  still  stealing  course  is  bent 
To  some  far  West,  where  Shee  doth  crowd 
Behind  ye  World  herselfe  to  shrowd, 
The  royall  Day 
Doth  not  straitway 
In  its  full  grace 
Supply  ye  place  ; 
But  quick  Aurora  sweetly  faire 
Stepps  in  before  to  trimme  ye  Aire, 
Showing  ten  thousand  Roses  all  before 
The  Suns  bright  entrance  at  his  easterne  doore. 

The  Jews  thick  Night  (where  ye  huge  shade 
Of  duskie  Ceremonies  made 
Jacobs  great  Sun  descry'd  from  far 
Appeare  no  more  than  Jacobs  Star) 
When  once  it  grew 
Mature,  &  drew 
Unto  its  end ; 
Heavn  strait  did  send 
An  Harbenger  to  dresse  the  way 
With  morning  Glories  for  ye  Day : 
The  other  darksome  is  to  this  Days  Sun, 
Nor  is  Aurora  faire  compar'd  with  John. 

212 


S.  John  Baptist  213 


Elizabeth  &  Zacharie 

Grown  old  in  spotlesse  Pietie 

Shall  have  their  yeouth  renew'd  &  turne 

Againe  unto  their  vigorous  Morne, 

Whence  shall  be  drawn 
This  glorious  Dawne : 
From  such  &  none 
But  such,  may  John 
Derive  his  Birth ;  a  Plant  so  faire 
Must  needs  of  some  choice  Root  be  Heire ; 
A  Stream  so  pure  &  holy  could  not  be 
Issue  to  any  Fount,  but  Sanctitie. 


Both  in  ye  work  &  in  ye  Place 
Of  Holynes  ye  Business  was 
Reveal'd  at  first,  whilst  Gabriel  spies 
Old  Zacharie  at  Sacrifice. 

He  spies  Him,  and 
Doth  silent  stand 
Aside,  yl  He 
No  stop  might  be 
Unto  ye  reverend  Service  :  but 
Archangells  faces  cannot  shut 
Their  lustre  up  so  easily  ;  Zacharies  eye 
Though  old  &  weak,  its  presence  did  descry. 


And  as  an  awfull  reverence  did 
Through  all  his  joints  a  trembling  spread, 
Fair  Gabriel  with  a  gentle  grace, 
Whilst  all  Heavn  smiled  in  his  face, 

Thus  chears  ye  Saint ; 

No  time  to  faint 

Is  this  for  Thee 

Blest  Zacharie, 
But  to  grow  young  &  strong  againe 
Strong  as  thy  Noble  Prayers,  wch  streine 
And  reach  Heavns  top  with  Clouds  more  sweet  then  those 
Which  from  that  Incense  Altar  ever  rose. 


214     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

Strong  must  Thou  grow,  &  strong  shall  be 
The  Partner  of  thy  Pietie  : 
Thy  Dear  Eliza  shall  bring  forth 
A  dearer  Son ;  in  whose  great  Berth 
Heavn  being  far 
Ingag'd,  takes  care 
About  his  Name, 
Which  wer't  ye  same 
With  Thine,  ye  World  might  take  Him  for 
Old  Zacharies  Issue,  &  no  more  : 
Heavn  gives  Thee  Him,  but  bids  Thee  Name  him  John, 
For  Heavns  He  is,  &  not  Thy  Son  alone. 


Be  tender  therefore  how  you  fashion 
Heavns  blessed  Darlings  education  : 
No  wine  nor  no  strong  Drink  must  gin 
To  kindle  dangerous  fervour  in 

His  Sacred  Blood  : 
The  Virgin  Flood 
Of  some  chaste  Spring 
Shall  dayly  bring 
Supply  unto  his  Cup,  that  He 
As  pure  &  chaste  as  it  may  be : 
For  in  his  infant  venerable  Breast 
The  spotlesse  Dove  of  Heavn  will  make  its  Nest. 


God  means  to  come  &  dwell  wth  Men 
But  will  be  nobly  usherd  in, 
And  sends  thy  Son  before  to  see 
His  royall  way  prepared  be. 

Hearts  are  ye  path 
He  chosen  hath ; 
And  these  alone 
By  powerfull  John 
Can  conquerd  be  &  force'd  to  meet 
All  plaine  &  smoothe  their  Makers  feet : 
For  tis  His  Privelege  fully  to  inherit 
Mighty  ElicCs  most  unconquerd  Spirit. 


S.  John  Baptist  215 


As  strange  as  was  ye  Messenger 
Did  this  all-glorious  News  appear. 
Give  leave,  Illustrious  Angell,  cryes 
Good  Zachary,  if  Doubts  arise  : 
Shall  worthlesse  I 
Grown  old  &  drie, 
Againe  revive 
And  double  live, 
Fresh  in  my  Selfe,  &  in  a  Son 
So  great,  so  pure,  so  strange  a  One  ? 
Surely  this  Wonder  well  deserves  that  Thou 
Some  signe  aforehand  to  my  Faith  allow. 


Know  then,  says  He,  I'm  Gabriel, 
And  that  my  honour  is,  to  dwell 
Before  ye  Seat  of  God,  &  see 
The  glories  of  Divinitie. 

Those  Spirits,  wch  lie, 
Soar  not  so  high, 
But  groping  dwell 
In  lowest  Hell 
Falshoods  dark  Kingdome  :  Truth  alone 
Finds  roome  about  the  heavnly  Throne. 
Yet  take  this  Signe ;  thy  Tongue  wch  ask'd  it,  shall 
Be  mute,  till  Men  shall  Thee  Johns  Father  call. 


And  with  this  Word,  into  ye  Aire 
More  pure  then  it,  vanishd  ye  faire 
And  nimble  Spirit ;  whilst  Zacharie 
Doth  after  in  devotion  flie ; 

In  praise  his  Heart 
Could  beare  her  parte  ; 
But  on  his  Toung 
Did  sit  so  strong 
The  Silent  Signe,  that  onely  now 
The  language  of  his  Pen  can  show 
His  dear  Eliza  what  had  made  him  dumbe, 
And  what  would  ope  her  aged  barren  wombe. 


216     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 


ii 

Eliza  found  the  Promise  true 
Which  with  her  Wombe  still  bigger  grew, 
And  to  its  plenitude  did  swell 
Moneth  after  moneth ;  whilst  Gabriel 
Being  to  goe 
On  busines  to 
A  Friend  of  hers 
This  News  inferrs 
Among  ye  rest,  which  Shee  wth  joy 
Imbraced,  &  contriv'd  a  way 
How  to  goe  visit,  &  congratulate 
Her  new  revived  Cosins  pregnant  state. 

No  sooner  was  She  come,  &  had 
Her  gentle  Salutation  made, 
But  strait  Eliza's  wombe  prevents 
Her  Tongues  most  forward  Complements. 
The  Babe,  wch  there 
Lay  hid,  did  heare 
The  Strangers  Toung 
Which  sweetly  rung 
Heavn  in  his  ears,  &  made  him  know 
His  mighty  Lord  was  neer  him  now ; 
He  knows  those  gratious  words  can  speak  no  other 
But  Heavns  and  Earths  Delight,  his  Makers  Mother. 

Wherefore  before  Eliza's  lips 
Could  let  an  answer  out,  He  skips 
With  sprightfull  joy,  &  as  He  may 
Doth  to  his  Lord  his  homage  pay  : 
Betimes  He  tries 
To  exercise 
Himselfe,  who  was 
Designed  to  passe 
Before  Him,  &  all  things  prepare 
As  his  most  faithfull  Harbenger : 
He  leaps,  &  seems  to  chide  ye  Wombs  delay 
Which  stopt  him  now  from  entring  on  his  way. 


S.  John  Baptist  217 


At  length  ye  happy  time  was  come 
Which  did  release  Him  from  ye  wombe 
Unto  his  joyfull  Mothers  warme 
Kisses,  &  soft  imbracing  Arme. 

Her  Friends  about 
Her  round,  poure  out 
In  thousand  fashions 
Of  Gratulations 
Their  Joyes  &  Wishes,  every  one 
Blessing  ye  Mother  &  ye  Son. 
But  when  ye  Circumcision  Morning  came, 
A  pretty  quarrell  rose  about  his  Name. 


His  Friends  desir'd  He  might  inherit 
Both  his  great  Fathers  Name  &  Spirit, 
And  in  a  kind  presumption  stilde 
Him  Zachary.     O  no,  ye  Child 

Is  mine,  his  Mother 
Cries,  &  no  other 
'But  John  shall  be 
His  Name  :  to  me 
Dear  is  the  Name  of  Zachary, 
Dear  as  my  reverend  Lord,  yet  I 
Must  have  my  will ;  this  Name  say  I,  or  none ; 
Let  Him  be  Zachary 's  son,  but  named  John. 


And  must  We  this  Sweet  Babe,  say  They, 
Unto  a  forrein  Name  betray  ? 
A  Name  not  heard  of  yet  in  thy 
Old  Famous  Line  and  Family. 

Meanst  Thou  to  pluck 
Him  from  ye  stock 
Where  Heavn  hath  set  him, 
And  not  let  Him 
Be  come  a  Root  from  whence  may  rise 
An  endlesse  Brood  of  Zacharies  ? 
O  let  his  Father  end  this  quarrell,  and 
May  his  most  reverend  Decision  stand. 


2 1 8     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

Content,  &  what  my  Lord,  says  Shee, 
Does  write  shall  prove  a  Law  to  Me. 
Grave  Zachary  no  sooner  takes 
The  Table,  but  by  it  He  speaks. 
His  name  is  John. 
Which  scarce  was  done, 
But  strait  He  felt 
All  ye  Bands  melt, 
Wherin  Great  Gabriel  thus  long 
Had  kept  close  Prisoner  his  Toung. 
But  now  his  Mouth  flows  with  his  Makers  praise 
And  vents  his  Spirit  in  inspired  Layes. 


The  sound  of  this  restored  Toung 
Through  all  ye  Neighbor  regions  rung, 
Spreading  Amazement  all  ye  way 
Where  e'r  it  travelled :  yet  they 

Who  heard  it,  were 
Roused  with  fear 
And  wonder,  not 
So  much  at  that 
As  at  ye  Childs  miraculous  Fame, 
Which  wth  a  louder  Eccho  came 
And  pierc'd  their  Hearts :  what  will  He  prove,  say  They, 
Whose  Birth  through  Wonders  makes  its  Noble  way? 


Why,  He  will  prove  all  to  be  true 
That  Gabriel  did  of  Him  forshow, 
He  will  not  prove  a  Man  for  you, 
Nor  for  ye  Life  professd  below. 

Betimes  He  grows 
Angell,  &  knows 
A  way  to  ease 
His  Soule  of  these 
So  weildy  worldly  clogs  :  into 
The  Deserts  freedome  He  can  goe 
Living  alone  with  God,  &  learning  there 
Of  Him  how  He  his  Sons  way  must  prepare. 


S.  John  Baptist  219 


He  thinks  not  much  to  leave  behind 
Those  dainty  Clothes,  wch  lay  ye  Mind 
Open  &  naked  :  He  can  wear 
A  suit  of  harsh,  &  homely  hair ; 
And  so  appeare 
More  fine  by  far 
In  Heavns  strait  view, 
Then  finest  you : 
A  simple  Thong  girds  Him  as  well 
As  all  your  massy  Belts,  wch  swell 
With  Pearle  &  gold,  this  being  garnished  by 
The  richest  Gemme,  poorest  Humility. 


Though  for  his  Portion,  He  might  call 
Unto  you  yet  He  leaves  them  all, 
All  those  soft  sweets,  wch  may  invite 
Your  Learned  Palates  to  delight : 
From  those  wch  you 
Away  doe  throw 
In  fatt  disdaine, 
He  doth  refraine 
As  viands  too  too  delicate 
For  Him,  who  at  a  cheaper  rate 
Can  live  &  serve  his  God :  poore  Locusts  are 
With  wilde  &  casuall  Honey,  all  his  cheare. 


And  chear  enough  :  No  want  hath  He 
All  whose  Desires  answered  be. 
No  Art  of  Luxurie  can  please 
A  Soule  with  such  accomplishd  Ease 
Which  sets  her  free 
From  Slavery 
Unto  this  Dust 
No  rampant  Lust 
Flies  up  &  blinds  ye  Eyes  of  John, 
Who  Master  of  Himselfe  alone, 
Can  freely  yeild  what  is  so  fully  his 
Unto  His  Service,  whom  to  serve  is  Blisse. 


2  20     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 


in 

Thus  waits  He  on  His  God,  when  loe 
The  wondring  World  conspires  to  goe 
And  pay  Attendance  unto  Him, 
Judea  &  Jerusalem 

Both  leave  their  home, 
And  Pilgrims  come 
Unto  ye  Wilde 
And  desert  field, 
Yea  Jordan  summons  all  his  streame 
Thither  to  come  &  meet  wth  them ; 
Such  is  ye  Conflux,  y'  ye  WTildernesse 
And  that  alone  no  Desert  doth  confesse. 

The  Noble  Preacher  now  begins 
Battle  to  bid  against  those  sins, 
Which  fought  wth  Heavn,  &  in  its  way 
Did  thick  &  Foule  obstructions  lay. 

Take  downe,  He  cries, 
Those  Mounts  which  rise 
So  high,  &  fill 
Those  gaps  of  Hell, 
That  so  a  Path  all  smooth  may  meet 
And  kisse  your  Makers  gratious  feet. 
Pave  all  His  way  with  Hearts,  but  let  them  be 
Gentle  &  soft,  for  such  a  One  is  He. 

Yet  if  you  rugged  make  his  Path, 
He  can  be  like  to  it :  in  wrath 
Upon  you  can  He  trample,  and 
Has  Hell  &  Death  at  his  Command. 
If  you  will  prove 
Good  wheat,  his  love 
And  Armes  shall  be 
Your  Granarie : 
But  if  his  righteous  Fan  shall  finde 
You  worthlesse  chaffe,  his  Angers  winde, 
Which  kindled  ye  eternall  flames,  shall  cast 
You  headlong  in  by  its  all-potent  Blast. 


S.  John  Baptist  221 


O  turne  in  time,  &  with  your  tears 
Both  quench  y*  fire,  &  drowne  my  fears. 
Repent,  &  He  will  doe  so  too, 
Who  has  decreed  to  overthrow 
All  yl  withstand 
His  mighty  hand. 
Soone  will  He  heer 
In  power  appeare 
And  you  in  Spirit  &  Fire  baptize  : 
O  hearken  then,  &  timely  wise 
In  Water  first  baptized  be  by  Me 
So  shall  his  Baptisme  safe  &  welcome  be. 


As  Jordans  crowding  Streames  made  haste 
Into  ye  Sea  themselves  to  cast ; 
So  into  his  fair  channell  now 
All  The  converted  People  flow, 

Hasting  to  drench 
Themselves,  &  quench 
Their  thirsty  Fire, 
Whose  brave  Desire 
Burnt  all  for  Baptisme ;  now  no  more 
Trust  They  their  Ceremonious  store 
Of  Legall  Washings,  which  themselves  did  grow 
So  foule,  that  now  'twas  time  to  wash  them  too. 


Startled  at  this  the  High  Priests  take 
Advice  about  ye  Point,  &  make 
Upon  debate  a  Joint  Decree 
To  send  Ambassadors,  &  see 

What  was  this  John  ; 
Whither  that  Great  One, 
On  whom  they  had 
So  long  time  fed 
Their  highest  Hopes,  their  deare  Messias, 
Or  the  miraculous  Elias 
Or  some  selected  Prophet ;  for  no  lesse 
By  his  great  Fame  could  they  collect,  then  this. 


222     Poems  of  Joseph   Beaumont 

No,  none  of  these,  says  He,  am  I ; 
I  am  ye  Voice  sent  out  to  crie, 
Make  strait  y6  Way,  &  clear  ye  room 
That  God  unto  his  World  may  come. 
Though  Mighty  He 
Comes  after  Me, 
Yet  does  He  too 
Before  Me  goe ; 
As  far  before,  as  He  could  be 
Ev'n  By  compleat  Eternitie. 
And  I  poor  worme  unworthy  am  to  loose 
Ev'n  but  ye  latchet  of  my  Makers  shoes. 


Peace  humble  Saint,  for  He  must  be 
Immediately  baptiz'd  by  Thee. 
The  more  unworthy  Thou  dost  deeme 
Thy  selfe,  ye  worthyer  dost  Thou  seeme 
To  Heavn  &  Him; 
Who  on  ye  brimme 
Of  Jordan  now 
Himselfe  doth  show, 
And  wooe's  thy  Hand  to  wash  him  there, 
j  O  no,  cries  John,  Deare  Lord  forbeare, 
How  can  pollution  wash  such  Puritie  ? 
All  need  have  I  to  be  washd  clean  by  Thee. 


And  so  Thou  shalt :  Yet  say  not  no, 
Now  thy  great  Lord  will  have  it  so. 
Humilitie  if  once  it  side 
With  Disobedience,  swells  to  Pride. 
He  needs  not  be 
Washed  by  Thee, 
But  means  to  make 
Thy  Hands  partake 
Of  nobler  Puritie,  whilst  They 
In  washing  Him  his  Will  obey ; 
Whilst  on  that  Sacred  Head  they  water  poure, 
Which  Gods  owne  hand  had  dew'd  wth  Oile  before. 


S.  John  Baptist  223 


Now  willing  growne,  yet  trembling  too 
About  his  great  Work  He  doth  goe ; 
A  Work  so  royall  &  so  High 
As  might  Archangells  dignifie, 

Yet  deignd  to  none 
But  humble  John, 
His  Hands  wch  were 
More  pure  &  faire 
Then  Jordans  silver  flood,  he  fills 
With  it,  &  then  with  reverence  spills 
Itton  ye  Head  of  JESUS ';  &  before 
His  venerable  feet  his  Soule  doth  poure. 

IIII 

This  Busines  done  to  Court  He  goes, 
A  fitting  Match  to  deal  wth  Those 
Illustrious  high  borne  Sins,  wch  there 
In  silks  &  Gold  doe  domineere ; 

And  which  sometime 
Are  seen  to  climbe 
Up  to  ye  Throne 
And  reigne  alone 
Both  over  Prince  &  People  too ; 
And  Herods  Court  was  tainted  so  : 
The  Tetrarch  rules  ye  numerous  Multitude 
Whilst  by  no  fewer  sins  He  is  subdue'd. 

But  John,  who  no  displeasure  feares, 
But  His,  whose  Throne's  above  ye  Sphears 
Dares  bid  ye  Prince  beware  how  He 
Offends  an  higher  Majestic 

Herod  give  eare, 
Says  He,  &  heare 
What  word  to  Thee 
Heavn  sends  by  Me. 
Tis  not  thy  Kingdome  that  can  buy 
Thy  Brothers  Bed :  O  why  should  thy 
Fond  lust,  &  old  Herodias  dearer  be 
Then  thy  Gods  Law,  &  thine  owne  Soule  to  Thee  ? 


224     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

Unto  thy  choise  indulgent  Heavn 
The  fullnes  of  ye  world  hath  given, 
Nor  is  Herodias  alone 
The  Noble  &  ye  beauteous  One : 
A  lawfull  Love 
As  sweet  may  prove  ; 
And  blesse  thy  Bed 
With  nobler  Seed. 
Could  all  ye  world  no  Females  show 
But  that  Herodias,  yet  Thou 
Must  not  have  Her :  but  now  thy  choise  is  free, 
Take  Thee  some  other  Queen,  &  prosperous  be. 


What  fire  so  fierce  as  that  of  Lust 
When  into  furie  it  doth  burst  ? 
Is  Herod  King,  &  must  He  be 
Bridled  by  such  a  Thing  as  He  ? 

What,  must  a  young 
Poor  Preachers  Toung 
Limit  his  Love  ? 
Must  He  remove 
Out  of  his  Breast  his  dearer  Heart 
And  Him,  &  his  Herodias  part  ? 
Forbid  it  all  my  Might,  &  Kingdome,  cries 
The  Prince :  The  Saucy  Preacher  surely  dies. 


Whilst  in  his  Breast  this  furie  burnes, 
Into  his  Minde  ye  thought  returnes 
How  bright  in  all  ye  Peoples  eyes 
Johns  Sanctitie  &  Name  did  rise. 
To  murder  him 
Whom  they  did  deem 
A  Prophet,  might 
Their  Zeale  incite 
To  flat  Rebellion,  &  ye  King 
Unto  a  lost  Condition  bring  : 
Yea  They  perhaps,  what  He  had  preached,  by  force 
Might  execute,  &  hasten  a  Divorce. 


S.  John   Baptist  225 

Yet  must  not  He  escape,  nor  I 
Be  Prince  in  vaine,  still  He  shall  die, 
Though  in  a  Death  silent  &  long : 
I  have  a  Prison  dark  &  strong, 

Where  He  shall  have 

His  larger  Grave, 

Whilst  I  doe  live 

And  freely  give 
My  Soule  unto  all  Joyes  in  Thee 
Herodias,  my  Felicitie. 
And  thus  ye  zealous  Saint  imprisoned  is, 
And  sent  to  trie  a  straiter  wildernes. 


Now  foolish  Herod  fearing  none 
To  check  his  lust,  goes  cheerly  on. 
His  Birthday  comes,  &  as  if  now 
He  liv'd  anew,  He  means  to  show 
His  Princely  Joy ; 
That  merry  Day 
To  consecrate 
To  Pompe  &  State, 
His  Nobles  all  must  feasted  be 
At  this  his  grand  Solemnitie. 
And  young  Herodias  wth  her  charming  dance 
The  entertainements  value  must  inhance. 


The  King  is  set,  &  set  are  all 

The  Nobles  in  ye  royall  Hall. 

In  comes  ye  Nymph  &  feeds  their  eyes 

With  daintier  Varieties 

Then  those,  wch  were 
The  Tables  chear : 
Her  amorous  face 
Beauties  owne  Glasse, 
Her  robes,  ye  most  accomplishd  dresse 
Of  all  illustrious  Comelinesse  : 
But  when  her  gracefull  Dance  She  measures,  all 
Their  Hearts  trip  after  Her  about  the  Hall. 

Q 


226     Poems  of  Joseph   Beaumont 

Filld  with  delight,  like  some  mad  Lover, 
In  a  wilde  Oath  ye  King  runs  over ; 
By  Heavn,  He  cries,  &  as  I'm  King 
Ask  Me,  Herodias,  any  thing ; 
Challenge  of  Me 
If  it  like  Thee 
Halfe  of  this  Throne 
I  sit  upon ; 
Herod  unworthy  were  to  be 
A  Prince,  if  unrewarded  He 
Let  goe  thy  Merit :  say  what  must  I  give, 
In  this  deep  debt  thy  soveraigne  must  not  live. 


The  Younger  Witch  runs  to  her  Dame, 
And  gives  account  how  Shee  did  frame 
Her  soft  inchantments,  wch  did  wring 
This  usefull  promise  from  ye  King ; 
All  thanks,  says  Shee, 
Dear  Child,  to  Me 
Thou  dost  restore 
What  I  before 
Gave  Thee,  ev'n  Life ;  I  now  againe 
Shall  live,  &  like  a  Queen  shall  reigne. 
Ask  that  bold  Preachers  Head,  &  I  shall  be 
From  all  his  raylings  &  aspersions  free. 


Back  goes  ye  Dancer,  &  does  pray 
A  Dish  of  Meat  might  be  her  Pay, 
That  she  as  well  as  all  ye  rest 
Might  with  her  Mother  goe  &  feast. 
Let  Herod  now 
Performe  his  vow, 
Cries  She,  &  on 
His  happy  Throne 
For  ever  flourish  ;  the  Desire 
Of  his  poor  Handmaid  shall  aspire 
No  higher  then  ye  wretched  Head  of  John ; 
This  in  a  Dish  I  ask,  &  this  or  none. 


S.  John  Baptist  227 


Herod  starts  at  ye  Word,  &  tries 
How  He  might  put  on  Sorrows  guise ; 
Else  it  might  seem  a  Plot  between 
Him,  &  his  deep  inraged  Queen 
How  to  betray 
The  saint  to  Day. 
Alas,  sayes  He, 
Too  late  I  see 
The  rashnesse  of  my  rampant  vow, 
And  must  be  wondrous  wicked  now 
That  I^may  not  be  so :  foule  Crueltie 
Alone  from  Perjurie  can  rescue  Me. 


All  yee,  my  Lords,  are  Witnesse  how 
Profound  &  solemne  was  my  Vow : 
My  Honour  &  my  Honestie 
Deeply  in  it  ingaged  lie : 

0  could  but  I 
With  safetie, 

1  would  betray 
Both  these  to  Day 

Rather  then  John  :  But  now,  alas, 

Inslaved  to  Herodias 
I'm  not  my  selfe  :  then  fetch  his  Head ;  but  say 
'Twas  Rashnes  &  not  Herod  Him  did  slay. 


Yes  glozing  Tyrant,  it  is  Thou, 
Who  dost  pretend,  but  breakst  thy  Vow : 
No  more  then  halfe  thy  Kingdome  was 
Ingage'd  to  spruce  Herodias  : 

Let  Her  have  that, 
But  let  her  not 
Incroach  &  call 
For  more  then  all. 
Farr  More  then  all  is  this,  that  Shee 
And  angry  Lust  doe  ask  of  Thee, 
More  then  thy  totall  Kingdome  &  thy  Crowne, 
The  Baptists  Head  is  worth  more  then  thine  owne. 


228      Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

Well,  be  it  worth  a  World,  it  must 
Be  yeilded  to  ye  Dancers  Lust ; 
Who  to  her  Mother  dances  in 
Bearing  ye  fruit  of  her  bold  sin. 

Look  heer,  she  cries, 
I  have  ye  prize, 
A  Dish  I  bring 
You  from  ye  King 
Wheron  your  eyes,  your  Heart,  your  Spight 
May  feed  with  uncontrolld  delight. 
Madame  be  free,  loe  ev'n  ye  Preacher  now 
Your  pleasure  serves,  &  to  your  Will  doth  bow. 

Mock  not,  Herodias.     Rescue'dy^w 
From  both  his  Prisons  now  is  gone 
Unto  a  Feast  more  Princely  far 
Then  Herod  has  provided  heer ; 

Thou  hast  made  this 
Birthday  prove  His 
The  Day,  yl  sends 
Saints  to  their  ends 
Opes  them  a  new  Nativitie 
Unto  a  Life,  that  cannot  die. 
John  lives  to  day,  nor  dost  Thou  dance  alone  j 
In  Paradise  they  dance,  where  John  is  gone. 

One  Dance  for  Thee  is  still  behind 
By  which  Revenge  thy  Crime  will  find : 
The  Ice  perfidious  to  Thee, 
But  unto  Justice  true  shall  be, 

When  it  shall  catch 
Thy  neck,  &  snatch 
Its  Head  away, 
Which  there  shall  play 
And  dance  a  tragik  Measure  on 
That  fatall  Pavement :  then  shall  Joh7i 
Wth  greater  glory  view  Thee  from  his  Sphear, 
Then  Herod  at  his  Feast  beheld  Thee  heere. 


S.   Peter 


TRUE,  'tis  thy  time  foule  Nero ;  Thou 
Mayst  be  more  then  Devill  now, 
And  venture  on  this  Saint,  wch  Hell 
Hath  often  felt  &  fear'd  :  full  well 
This  Work  thy  monstrous  Hand  doth  fit, 
Which  blusheth  not  itself  to  wet 
In  thine  owne  Mothers  Heart,  &  write 
The  King  of  Tyrants,     just  &  right 
It  is  ye  Emperour  should  see 
His  conquerd  God  revenged  bee  : 
Now  thy  bruised  Simon  dies 
This  other  Simons  Sacrifice  j 
It  will  become  Thee  Him  to  slay 
Who  of  thy  God  hath  won  ye  Day. 

Foolish  Tyrant,  dost  Thou  know 
What  Thou  art  about  to  doe? 
Know'st  Thou  that  Thou  takst  away 
Not  thy  Tutor  Seneca, 
But  ye  Worlds  great  Master,  One 
On  whom  ye  education 
Of  greater  Things  then  Thou  depends, 
One,  whose  school  it  selfe  extends 
Much  further  then  thy  Empire,  by 
Thy  stoutest  Eagles  wings  could  fly? 
Knowst  Thou  that  thine  owne  hand  shall  be 
The  ladder,  by  whose  Service  He 
To  Heavn  shall  climbe,  who  but  ev'n  now 
Thy  soaring  God  pulld  downe  so  low  ? 
Thither  shall  He  climbe  &  yet 
Leave  firm  &  sure  his  reverend  Seat ; 
229 


230     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

For  thy  proud  Rome  shall  see  his  Throne 
Flourish,  when  thine  is  dead  &  gone. 

What  though  He  but  a  Fisher  be  ? 
Illustrious  is  his  Trade,  for  He 
Useth  no  bait,  but  what  is  more 
Worth,  then  this  Imperiall  store  : 
His  Hook's  a  noble  Crosse,  &  this 
With  a  Kingdome  baited  is ; 
Eternall  Crowns  are  fastned  on  it ; 
Blisse  &  all  Heavn  hang  upon  it ; 
Doe  Thou  thy  Selfe  but  Bite,  &  He 
Can  catch,  &  thither  draw  up  Thee. 

Yet  if  His  Blood  be  all  that  thy 
Desire  does  thirst  for,  He  can  Die  : 
He  can  Die  with  more  delight 
Then  Thou  canst  Live  :  thy  fiercest  Spight 
Can  mingle  no  such  deadly  Cup 
But  He  can  thirst  to  drink  it  up, 
And  find  Life  in  its  bottome  :  He 
Counts  it  but  Death  to  Live  wth  Thee, 
Seing  his  Lord  &  Life  long  since 
Was  returned  home  from  hence. 

And  hearty  thanks  He  gives  unto 
Thy  furie,  which  contrives  it  so, 
That  by  ye  same  illustrious  step 
After  his  Lord  He  may  goe  up. 
Had  He  his  choise  of  all  thy  store 
Of  Torments,  none  would  tempt  Him  more 
Then  this  fair  Crosse,  wch  bounteous  Thou 
On  his  Ambition  doth  bestow, 
Who  would  not  halfe  so  willing  be 
To  climbe  thy  Royall  Throne  wth  Thee. 

This  is  that  Tree,  wch  reacheth  up 
To  highest  Heavns  its  Noble  Top ; 
Whose  boughs  through  all  ye  world  doe  spread, 
And  a  wholesome  shadow  shed ; 
Whose  foot  tramples  ye  Head  of  Hell, 
And  all  its  envious  Powers  doth  quell : 
The  Tree,  wch  bare  no  fruit  but  God 
When  in  Calvarie  it  stood. 


S.  Peter  231 


Look  now  how  rare  Humilitie 
Plucks  back  ye  Saint  from  this  fair  Tree : 
This  Altar  is  too  great,  He  cries, 
For  so  mean  a  Sacrifice ; 
My  Masters  Throne  of  Torment  is 
Too  Royall  for  my  Worthlessnesse  : 
Were  some  Cherub  here  to  die, 
This  Ingine  Him  would  dignifie ; 
Alas  any  unhonourd  way 
Of  Death  would  serve  poor  Me  to  slay  ; 
The  best  of  Crowns,  dear  Martyrdome 
Though  in  ye  meanest  Shape  it  come, 
Will  bring  sufficient  Glory.     Yet 
If  needs  I  must  aspire  to  it, 
May  I  have  leave  to  show  that  I 
Desire'd  not  in  this  Pompe  to  die : 
So  hang  Me  that  my  Head  below 
Its  dying  Kisses  may  bestow 
Upon  the  reverend  foot  of  this 
Great  Seat  my  Master  once  made  His. 
None  but  this  fashion  can  agree 
With  my  unequall  Dignitie ; 
When  their  Kings  honours  Servants  crowne 
Tis  fit  ye  upside  should  be  downe. 

Thou  hast  thy  Wish,  meek  Saint,  to  this 
Request  ye  Tyrant  liberall  is ; 
And  smiles  that  He  has  learnd  to  day 
To  Crucifie  a  new  found  way. 
Now  doe  thy  feet  point  to  ye  Place 
Whither  Thou  must  straitway  passe ; 
And  turned  quite  away  art  Thou 
Allready  from  all  Things  below ; 
A  sweet  Advantage  by  thy  new 
Torment  doth  to  Thee  accrew, 
Which  with  thy  humble  Project's  even 
Now  Thou  lookest  downe  to  Heavn. 

Heaven  a  Place  to  Thee  well  knowne 
Into  whose  hand  ye  Keys  were  throwne, 
A  Place  wch  will  to  Thee  restore 
Thy  Heart  lodgd  there  so  long  before ; 


232     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

A  Place  much  higher,  Nero,  then 

He  is  falln  below  a  Man. 

A  Place,  where  Thou  shalt  meet  wth  thine 

And  with  Heavns  Blisse,  ye  most  Divine 

Eyes  of  JESUS,  from  whose  Beames 

The  Way  of  Life  &  Glory  streames. 


S.  James  ye  Apostle 

S.  Marc.  i.  19-20. 

LOVE  walking  once  by  ye  sea  side 
A  knot  of  busy  Fishers  spide  : 
And  why  may  I  not  fish,  said  He, 
Who  made  the  Fishes,  &  ye  Sea  ? 
Good  reason  Mighty  Love  that  Thou 
Where  Thou  dost  please  thy  bait  shouldst  throw 
And  happy  They,  who  can  but  be 
A  free  &  willing  Prey  to  Thee. 

O  what  commanding  Power  doth  wait 
Upon  thy  more  then  golden  Bait ! 
How  instantly  doth  James  forget 
The  mending  of  his  broken  Net, 
And  finds  y4  He  needs  more  to  be 
Mended,  &  made  whole  by  Thee ! 
No  sooner  did  thy  blessed  Call 
Ring  in  his  Heart,  but,  Farewell  all, 
Cries  He,  &  welcome  more  then  so ; 
I  to  a  greater  Sea  must  goe, 
A  Sea  of  Bliss  &  Joy  wch  I 
Now  standing  on  ye  Shoar  descry. 
Dear  Sire,  bear  wth  this  short  Adieu, 
Loe  there  my  Father  more  then  you ; 
He,  who  on  you  did  Me  bestow 
Calls  for  his  owne,  &  I  must  goe. 

Goe  gentle  Soule,  &  Captive  be 
Unto  ye  best  of  Libertie. 
A  fairer  Ship  then  this  Thou  leav'st 
Thou  by  a  blest  exchange  receiv'st : 

233 


234     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

The  Holy  Church  a  Vessell  is 

All  built  &  riggd,  &  fraught  wth  blisse : 

Thou  shalt  a  fishing  goe  againe, 

But  in  ye  Worlds  more  Noble  Maine, 

And  learned  in  thy  Masters  Art, 

Catch  such  as  is  thine  owne  soft  Heart ; 

Untill  mistaken  Herods  hand 

Shall  draw  thy  labours  unto  land, 

And  drive  Thee  wth  his  murdring  Sword 

To  Lifes  fair  Shoar,  to  thy  Dear  Lord. 


S.    Bartholomew 


SURELY  this  Gold's  but  Earth,  although 
Through  throngs  of  Tempests  it  can  draw 
The  greedy  West 
Into  ye  East 
And  make  ye  Ocean  crowd  into 
The  Mouth  of  Inde  :  And  will  none  goe 
To  finde  a  Prize  more  golden  then 
That  glittering  Ore,  th'  eternall  Soules  of  Men  ? 

Yes,  here's  a  Merchant  ready ;  He, 
Were  India  more  Worlds  off,  can  be 

Content  to  passe 

Them  all :  He  has 
A  fairer  gale  then  ever  from 
The  Mouth  of  any  Winde  did  come ; 
Full  in  his  Sail  God's  Spirit  blows, 
And  not  to  fetch,  but  carry  Gold,  he  goes. 

If  Gold  be  not  a  Name  too  poor, 
To  print  upon  his  Noble  store ; 

The  pretious  Wares 

He  thither  bears 
Are  genuine  Peace,  &  boundlesse  Blisse, 
And  Loves,  &  Joyes,  &  Paradise  : 
For  these  &  more  inshrined  lie 
In  JESU'S  Name,  Heavns  best  Epitomie. 

235 


236      Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

With  this  He  trades,  yet  not  to  make 
Him  selfe,  but  India  rich  :  Come  take 

Your  choise,  He  cries, 

In  this  great  Prize ; 
Indeed  tis  richly  worth  much  more 
Then  all  your  idolized  Ore ; 
But  you  may  goe  on  Trust  for  this, 
Give' but  your  Faith,  &  yours  ye  Treasure  is. 

His  market  thus  in  India  done, 
Unto  Armenia  He  doth  run 

To  traffique  there 

With  ye  same  ware. 
A  Braver  Merchant  ne'r  did  come 
Into  those  parts  ;  &  there  were  some 
That  dealt  with  Him,  who  quickly  thrive 
Getting  wherwith  eternally  to  live. 

But  having  undertook  to  make 
His  Chapmen  Kings,  ye  King  doth  take 
High  discontent 
To  hear  Him  vent 
Doctrines  so  bold ;  No  more,  cries  He, 
Of  your  Christs  Kingdome  ;  there  shall  be 
In  my  Armenia  but  one 
And  thats  mine  owne  undoubted  lawfull  Throne. 

The  Gods  by  whose  assistance  I 
Ascended  to  this  Royaltie 

Are  Gods  enough : 

I  can  allow 
Thy  uselesse  Christ  no  room,  &  yet 
Thy  selfe  maist  for  some  use  be  fit. 
Say  Slaves,  will  He  not  serve  to  flea  ? 
Though  He  be  naught,  yet  good  his  skin  may  be. 

Mistaken  Tyrant,  what  canst  Thou 
And  this  thy  tardy  Torment  doe? 

Long  since  our  Saint 

Without  constraint 


S.   Bartholomew  237 


Threw  off  ye  Worlds  unworthy  skins 
The  foolish  furniture  of  Sins  ; 
Yea  &  ye  Flesh  :  what  matter  then 
For  Him  to  lay  aside  his  weary  Skin  ? 

Take  then  thy  most  unconquerd  Prey  ; 
And  for  ye  skin  Thou  pluckst  away 
Array  Him  round 
With  one  great  Wound  : 
Trie  if  thy  Spight  can  boundlesse  prove 
As  are  His  Patience  &  his  Love : 
Send  Him  more  naked  hence  then  He 
Came  hither  at  his  first  Nativitie ; 

So  !  now  far  fairer  then  before, 
He  sparkles  in  his  glorious  Gore 
As  ye  stript  Sun 
The  Clouds  being  gone 
Though  naked  yet  more  beauteous  is 
By  that  illustrious  Nakednes, 
Having  no  shame  to  hide,  wch  may 
Beholding  be  to  some  more  spruce  array. 

What  e'r  ye  stupid  Tyrant  think, 
The  wiser  Devills  back  doe  shrink, 

And  dare  not  look 

On  this  red  book 
The  Saints  owne  Rubrick,  or  once  come 
Neere  so  strong  Beams  of  Martyrdome, 
But  wish  a  thousand  times  ye  skin 
Were  on  ye  Noble  Martyrs  back  agin. 

No ;  let  ye  King  this  token  keep 
That  he  did  slay  ye  harmelesse  Sheep : 

Heavn  will  provide 

A  Robe  to  hide 
The  Saint ;  faire  Immortalitie 
Into  a  garment  fram'd  shall  be, 
A  garment  full  &  fit,  whose  hue 
Though  ever  worne,  keeps  ever  fresh  &  new. 


238     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

Goe  then,  Great  Saint,  unto  thy  Place 
Much  richer  then  thy  India  was, 

A  Place  too  high 

For  Tyranny 
To  reach  Thee  thence  :  there  shalt  Thou  see 
The  Crowne  &  Throne  prepard  for  Thee, 
Who  to  be  sure  to  enter  in 
At  Heavns  strait  Gate,  didst  first  put  off  thy  skin. 


S.   Matthew 


OLOVE  Thou  art  Almighty  !     This 
Sole  Day  can  prove  Thee  so,  wch  is 
Not  onely  Matthews,  but  from  thence 
The  Feast  of  thy  Omnipotence. 
Thy  single  Word  did  not  to  day 
Blow  sturdy  Mountains  far  away, 
Or  cite  ye  East  into  ye  West, 
Or  fright  ye  Centre  from  its  Nest ; 
But  more  then  so,  draw  from  its  Seat 
The  Publican,  about  whose  feet 
Hung  cloggs  of  Gold  :  cloggs  heavier  far 
Then  Centres,  Worlds,  or  Sorrows  are, 
Except  those  Griefs  wch  hung  on  Thee 
When  Thou  wert  hung  on  Calvarie. 
How  safe  did  Matthew  sit  upon 
The  most  inchanting  thriving  Throne 
Of  constant  Gains,  wcb  with  full  tide 
Came  crowding  in  on  every  side, 
And  onely  bid  Him  ope  his  Chest 
To  let  it  in !     How  amply  blest 
Would  thousands  write  themselves,  if  they 
So  cheaply  could  such  wealth  injoy, 
Though  more  then  one  Damnation  were 
Tie'd  in  its  Traine  !     But  LOVE'S  words  are 
Richer  then  Riches  :  Matthew  now 
Forgets  Golds  price,  wch  He  doth  throw 
With  all  its  hopes  away,  &  choose 
Bare  Povertie  as  by  it  goes  : 
For  LOVE  had  put  it  on,  &  He 
No  sooner  cries  come  follow  Me 

239 


240     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

But  as  a  faithful!  Eccho  to 

The  Word,  ye  ready  Saint  doth  goe. 

No  Scruple,  no  demurre ;  he  knew 

Twas  LOVE  that  calld,  &  LOVE  that  drew. 

Twas  LOVE,  &  He  his  Tribute  can 

As  well  as  Caesar  claime  from  Man. 


Michae/masse 


WHAT  though  our  languid  Songs  cannot  aspire 
(Justly  termd  AIRES,  because  they  reach  no  higher) 
Yours  Noble  Spirits,  make  large  supply, 
Whose  loftie  Key 
Doth  well  agree 
With  Him,  whose  Name  you  eccho,  the  MOST  HIGH. 

The  TRIPLE  ONE  &  UNDIVIDED  THREE, 
In  your  mysterious  Consorts  Unitie 

For  ever  sounds,  whose  gallant  praise 

As  you  chant  there 

All  Heavn  you  chear 
And  make  it,  &  its  Stars  dance  roundelays. 

Whither  some  Seraphik,  or  Cherubik  Throats 
Lead  up  ye  ravishing  Verse  in  Single  Notes, 
Before  ye  full  Quire  thunders  in  : 

Or  whither  all 

Together  fall 
Upon  ye  Song,  the  Musik  still  doth  win, 

It  wins  ye  ear,  &  wins  ye  favour  too 
Of  Him,  whom  all  your  loud  TRISAGUIMS  doe 
Strive  to  extoll :  HE  all  things  made 
That  Prayses  they 
To  Him  might  pay, 
And  best  likes  those,  who  follow  best  their  Trade. 

241  R 


2^2     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

Close  doe  you  follow  it,  while  ravishd  by 
Your  owne  exstatic  Notes,  your  Soules  doe  flie 
Along  wth  them,  untill  they  beat 
Strongly  upon 
Gods  Mighty  Throne 
And  so  rebound  againe  unto  their  Seat. 

By  this  sweet  intercourse  your  Hearts  doe  goe 
In  glorious  pleasure  trading  to  &  fro  : 

And  whilst  a  veil  forbids  your  Eye 
Your  liscense'd  Toungs 
By  their  free  Songs 
Carry  you  close  unto  ye  Deitie. 

O  happy  Yee,  whose  undisturbed  Quire 
Can  be  as  lasting  as  your  owne  Desire, 

And  fears  not  to  be  silence'd  by 
Mischeivous  Zeale 
Or  ever  feele 
A  Reformation  by  Impietie. 

Sing  on  Sweet  Spirits,  &  pay  our  common  King 
What  We,  alas,  can  onely  wish  to  bring. 
Yet  if  We  ever  doe  arrive 
(As  We  desire) 
At  your  great  Quire 
Wee'l  take  our  Parts,  &  sing  as  long's  We  live. 

For  many  a  Place  We  know  there  vacant  is, 
Since  your  false  Brethern  Sung  their  Parts  amisse 
And  made  flat  Discord  in  ye  Song. 
The  fault  was  great, 
And  They  unfit 
Unto  ye  Quire  of  Angels  to  belong. 

Let  them  &  their  untuned  Genius  dwell 
Deep  in  ye  correspondent  Jarrs  of  Hell : 

But  Heavn  forbid  that  your  fair  Quire 

Imperfect  be ; 

Rather  may  we, 
And  our  sad  Groans,  to  your  sweet  Tunes  aspire. 


S.  Luke 


WHAT  though  some  monstrous  Things  yt  wear 
Physitians  Names,  &  Looks, 
And  all  things  but  their  Books, 
The  onely  licence'd  Murderers  are, 
Traders  in  Deaths,  wch  They  so  dear  doe  sell, 
That  They  undoe  oftimes  before  they  kell  ? 

The  Art  is  Noble  still,  &  can 

Bid  Death  her  distance  keep 
Though  Age  gins  to  be  steep, 
And  downward  bends  ye  hoary  Man: 
Physik  is  Lifes  Reserve,  &  can  make  way 
For  routed  Nature  not  to  loose  ye  Day. 

And  in  this  potent  Art  our  Saint 

A  Master  was  :  yet  He 

Ambitious  is  to  be 

Skilld  deeper  yet,  &  to  acquaint 

With  Mystik  Physik,  wch  may  both  restore 

And  make  his  Patients  Live  for  evermore. 

In  ye  fair  Beds  of  Paradise 

He  searcheth  every  Place 
To  find  each  herb  of  grace, 
In  which  most  heavnly  virtue  lies. 
And  makes  a  Soveraigne  Purge,  whose  Power  divine 
Serves  to  dense  Hearts,  &  grossest  Soules  refine. 
243 


244     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

But  His  cheife  Simple  is  that  Tree, 
Upon  whose  every  Bough 
And  Leaf  pure  Life  doth  grow  ; 
And  this  his  JESUS  is,  whom  He 
Folds  up  in  Papyr,  &  doth  freely  send 
For  all  sick  soules  to  ye  Worlds  furthest  end. 

No  Physik  like  to  Gospell  is, 
Which  He  himselfe  did  trie 
Upon  himselfe,  &  by 
Its  virtue  still  doth  live  :  Tis  this 
Which  purgeth  all  Corruption,  &  doth  wring 
The  deadly  poyson  from  Deaths  conquerd  sting. 


SS.   Simon  &  Jude 


WHEN  LOVE  the  King  of  bounty,  did 
Look  over  all  his  year, 
Newfound  &  glorious  things  He  spread 
To  make  it  rich  &  fair. 

He  sprinkled  on  ye  foremost  Day 

Gemms  dugg  from  his  owne  veins, 

And  gave  his  foreskin  to  array, 

And  hide  ye  New  years  stains. 

Another  speciall  Day  He  did 

Paint  full  &  fair  all  over, 
For  all  His  Noble  Blood  He  shed 

In  Purple  it  to  cover. 

But  when  His  owne  dear  veins  were  drie, 

He  borrows  of  his  Friends 
And  other  Days  to  dignifie, 

The  Martyrs  Blood  He  sends. 

Betimes  this  privileg'd  Day  did  get 

A  rich  &  double  share  : 
Two  Noble  Casks  abroach  were  set 

To  wash  &  dresse  it  fair. 

Two  rich  Apostolike  streams  did  run 

With  full  &  liberall  Tyde, 
And  joyning  both  their  floods  in  one 

In  this  Days  Channell  glide  : 

245 


246     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

Upon  whose  either  bank  each  one 

Their  reverend  Name  did  spread ; 

Since  when  in  this  Days  Stile  alone 
Simon  &  Jude  are  read. 


All  Saints 


THE  year  although 
A  long  &  tedious  Thing  till  now 
Grows  scant  &  narrow, 
And  glad  to  borrow 
A  cleanly  shift,  wherby 
To  wait  on  Pietie. 
Religion  hath  outvie'd  its  Days,  &  bred 
More  Saints  then  could  with  Feasts  be  furnished. 

For  Saints  indeed 
Are  not  Times  flitting  brittle  Breed, 
But  borne  to  be 
Eternallie ; 
Nor  can  ye  years  poor  Round 
Their  great  Dimensions  bound 
For  whom  ye  fairest  Sphears  extended  be ; 
Saints  must  impeople  Heavns  Immensitie. 

Wherfore  seing  this 
One  Day  for  all  selected  is, 

Let  its  full  Glory 
Outshine  ye  story 
Of  all  ye  year  beside, 
Now  grown  lesse  fair  &  wide 
Then  these  few  Hours,  the  vast  Epitomie 
Of  what  excelld  ye  years  Capacitie. 

247 


248     Poems  of  Joseph   Beaumont 

As  when  We  see 
In  one  rich  Mixtures  Unitie 

Each  Tribe  &  kinde 
Of  Sweets  combinde, 
And  by  Art  taught  to  dwell 
In  one  small  chry stall  cell, 
Such  is  ye  quintessentiall  Confluence  We 
Finde  in  this  single  generall  Feast  to  be. 

A  Feast  of  Feasts 
Where  holy  Hearts  (its  onely  Guests) 
Finde  every  Dish 
Exceed  their  Wish  : 
For  all  ye  Morsells  be 
Themselves  Feasts,  yet  agree 
To  shrink  their  bulke,  &  so  contracted  lie 
In  the  rich  lap  of  this  Festivitie. 

There  lie  the  pure 
Conserves  of  Lillies,  good  to  cure 
An  Heart  or  Eye 
Thats  blemish d  by 
(A  smoothe  but  rankling  Rust) 
The  burning  Spot  of  Lust : 
Some  call  them  Angells,  sent  to  shine  below, 
Others,  the  Virgin  Tribe  of  flaming  Snow. 

Next  these,  are  store 
Of  purple  Dainties  colourd  o're 

With  their  own  juice 

Of  speciall  use 

To  chear  the  Heart,  &  make 

It  manly  courage  take. 

These  are  of  sundry  sorts,  yet  all  doe  come 

From  one  red  Fount  of  Noble  Martyrdome. 

The  third  Course  is 
Though  not  so  rich  in  hue  as  this, 
Yet  full  &  faire 
And  may  compare 


All  Saints  249 


With  that  delicious  store 
Which  was  servd  up  before 
For  sundry  Virtues,  as  in  number  farre 
It  them  transcends  for  these  Confessors  are. 

Illustrious  Day, 
In  which  ye  whole  year  doth  display 
It  selfe,  &  more  ! 
O  may  our  poore 
Praises,  &  poorer  We 
Have  leave  to  wait  on  Thee. 
Our  vilenesse  sure  the  Saints  will  not  despise, 
Whose  Honour  first  from  Lowlines  did  rise ! 


S.   Mary  Magdalen  s   Ointment 

FORBID  Her  not,  nor  ask  a  reason  why. 
She  is  in  Love 
And  means  to  prove 
The  Sacred  Boldnes  of  LOVES  Myste?ie. 

Who  asks  a  Reason  why  ye  Zealous  Fire 
Will  owne  no  Rein 
Which  may  restrain 

Her  venturous  Flames,  and  say,  Ascend  no  higher  ? 

Marie's  on  fire  :  and  such  stout  Fire  as  fears 
No  ocean  streams 
To  check  its  flames, 

Which  burnes  amidst  a  Sea  of  brinie  Tears. 

These  Waters,  &  those  Flames  in  Her  brave  Eyes 
Both  have  their  Place, 
Both  have  their  grace, 

And  stoutly  strive  which  should  the  higher  rise. 

If  Shee  will  be  profuse,  oh  let  Her  be. 

LOVE'S  mystik  Art 
Knows  how  t'  impart 

Virtue's  true  grace  of  Prodigalitie. 

The  Box  is  dear,  is  not  Her  Heart  so  to  ? 
Then  let  Her  choose 
Which  Shee  will  loose ; 

That,  or  her  Heart  must  break  j  LOVE  chargeth  so. 
250 


S.   Mary  Magdalen's  Ointment     251 

O  generous  Odours  !     Ne'r  did  Thriftie  Love 
Admirers  meet 
With  halfe  so  sweet 

Perfumes,  when  saving  Prudence  her  did  move. 

Fresh  from  his  Alabaster  Prison  flies 

The  Noble  Smell, 

Whose  riches  fill 
The  sweetned  Earth,  &  reach  th'  applauding  skies. 

Stop  Her  not  now  :  See  how  her  genuine  Fire 
Takes  its  true  course 
And  with  full  force 

To  Heavn  it  selfe  directly  doth  aspire. 

For  what  is  Heavn,  if  not  sweet  JESU'S  head 
Whose  glorious  eyes 
Gild  all  ye  skies 

With  purer  beams  then  Phaebu's  Look  can  shed. 

Sweet  Sacrifice  !     But  sweeter  Altar  far  ! 

The  Altar  where 

This  Offerer 
Doth  dedicate  her  Nard,  Gods  Temples  are. 

What,  does  this  rare  Effusion  ad  a  glance 

Of  pleasing  grace 

To  JESU'S  face, 
And  make  in  God  a  cheerfull  Countenance  ? 

Sure  He  approves  it  well :  Engedie's  Bed, 
Or  Libanus 
Ne'r  pleasd  Him  thus, 

Nor  Edens  Hills,  wch  liquid  Spices'Jshed. 

Smile  all  ye  Sweets,  whose  Kindred  doth  advance 
You  to  be  nere 
This  Ointment  here  : 

That  rich  Relation  will  your  price  inhance. 


2 $2     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

And  Courage  Lovers  :  JESUS  will  allow 
Your  Noble  Passion 
Immoderation, 

Who  was  excessive  in  His  Love  to  you. 

But  Thou  Brave  Woman,  &  thy  pretious  Name 
More  sweet  then  was 
Thy  Nard,  shall  pass 

And  fill  th'  eternall  Mouth  of  holy  Fame. 


Lemniscus  ad  Columnam 
S.   Simeonis  Stylitae  appensus 

FOR  still  ye  reverend  Pillar  stands, 
And  all  religious  eyes  commands. 
Still  it  stands  erected  high 
On  fairest  Mount  of  Memorie  : 
High  as  ye  top  of  highest  Glorie, 
Which  writes  from  hence  its  noblest  Storie. 
Higher  then  the  PRINCE  of  FLIES 
With  his  swarthy  Wings  can  rise  : 
High  as  ye  flight  of  soules  :  as  high 
As  LOVE'S  illustrious  Wing  could  flie. 
,     As  high  as  is  the  loftie  pitch 
Lowest  Humilitie  can  reach. 
No  Pillar  ever  higher  stood 
But  that  which  shin'd  wth  Gods  dear  Blood. 

Faire  Mark  indeed,  wch  could  invite 
The  earlyest  Morne  &  latest  Night, 
The  East  &  West  to  leave  their  home, 
And  into  Syria  Pilgrims  come. 
Look  with  what  haste  huge  Torrents  straine 
To  crowd  themselves  into  ye  Maine  : 
With  as  full  &  speedy  Tide 
Nations  flow  from  every  side 
Into  this  Sea  of  Wonders.     Some 
To  feed  their  Admiration  come: 
Some  for  health,  some  for  Protection, 
Some  for  Counsell  &  direction. 

253 


254     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

Ne'r  did  so  thick  Devoto's  follow 
The  Oracle  of  Old  Apollo, 
Though  He  through  all  ye  World  did  goe 
For  Physiks  God  &  Wisdomes  too. 
Ne'r  could  usurping  Dieties 
To  such  exuberant  honour  rise, 
As  doth  from  all  Quarters  presse 
JESU'S  SERVANTS  feet  to  kisse. 

HIS  SERVANT,  &  no  more  but  so, 
Is  He  to  whom  these  Glories  flow. 
Honour  turnes  Servant  unto  them, 
Who  faithfull  Service  pay  to  Him. 
If  Simeons  noble  soule  disdaine 
To  wait  upon  ye  Worlds  proud  Traine ; 
The  World  shall  humble  prove,  &  be 
Servant  to  his  Humilitie. 

Humilitie  layd  sure  &  low 
Is  ye  root  from  whence  did  grow 
Those  Palms  &  wreathes,  whose  thick  imbraces 
Caught  Him  with  the  noblest  graces 
Of  never  sought  for  Fame.     His  first 
Acquaintance  with  ye  World  was  nurst 
Among  Things  like  himselfe ;  poor  Sheep 
And  simple  innocent  Lambs  to  keep 
Was  all  his  young  Preferment ;  low 
And  mean  enough,  you'l  say  ;  but  know 
To  Him  it  seemd  too  high  :  His  Crook 
Did  something  like  a  SCEPTER  look, 
And  all  his  FLOCK  like  SUBJECTS  stand 
And  goe  as  He  changd  his  Command. 
Ev'n  honours  Shades  &  Emblems  are 
Too  fair  for  his  meek  Soule  to  wear. 
He  thinks  it  work  enough  to  keep 
Himselfe,  whilst  others  govern  Sheep. 
And  all  his  Wishes  onely  strive 
In  some  safe  Fold  a  Lamb  to  live. 

No  Fold  so  safe  immure'd  can  be 
As  a  Monastik  Cell,  says  He. 
High  mounted  on  Devotions  wing 
Thither  hasts  this  simple  Thing, 


Columna  S.   Simeonis  Stylitae   255 

And  shrowded  in  that  narrow  Nest 
He  shuts  out  all  ye  World,  yl  rest 
And  He  more  room  might  get,  then  now 
Th'  excluded  Universe  could  show  : 
Room  to  traverse  Heavn,  &  see 
The  Crest  of  all  Sublimitie  : 
Room  to  lodge  all  Virtue's  Traine, 
Room  his  God  to  entertaine ; 
Room  where  all  his  Forces  may 
Mustered  &  set  in  array 
With  confidence  bid  battle  to 
His  &  Pieties  Mighty  Foe. 

Light  Skirmages  had  often  past 
Between  these  Champions,  till  at  last 
The  Saint  resolves  about  the  Spring 
The  utmost  of  his  Power  to  bring 
Into  ye  Field.     Twas  strange  to  see 
What  kind  of  Ammunition  He 
Store'd  up  against  ye  Fight :  all  Lent 
He  in  Fortifying  spent ; 
Good  store  of  Faith  He  did  provide, 
And  regarded  naught  beside. 
Meat  &  Drink  were  things  too  gross 
And  cumbersome  for  Him,  who  was 
With  Spirits  to  fight :  Forty  long  dayes 
His  silence'd  Appetite  obeys, 
Whilst  his  stout  Soule  did  thrive  &  feast 
With  one  perpetuall  perfect  Fast. 
His  treacherous  Flesh  quickly  fell  downe, 
All  his  false  Friends  away  were  blowne, 
His  Lusts  grew  tame,  &  every  Passion 
To  his  brave  Will  it  selfe  did  fashion. 
Unto  his  great  Designe  most  true 
And  trusty  every  Member  grew. 
Thus  to  ye  Combate  did  He  goe 
Neer  as  much  Spirit  as  his  Foe. 

Simple  Foe  !     The  Plot  He  layd 
Is  long  before  the  fight  betrayd  : 
The  World  &  Flesh,  wch  He  dispos'd 
In  ambuscado,  are  disclos'd, 


256     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

And  ye  Poore  &  pined  Saint 
Victorious  is  in  being  faint ; 
Proving  ye  Staffe  of  Bread  to  be 
No  necessary  weapon  ;  He 
Without  it  lives  &  fights,  Gods  Word 
Serves  Him  for  food  &  for  a  Sword. 
No  marvell  if  He  conquers,  who 
Makes  extream  weaknes  potent  grow, 
By  casting  from  Him  all  Defense 
But  onely  Gods  Omnipotence. 
Little  remains  of  Simeon  ; 
God  fights,  &  almost  God  alone. 

This  Strategeme  found  such  successe 
That  henceforth  He  doth  professe 
It  as  his  Trade ;  No  Spring  but  He 
Incounters  thus  his  Enemie  ; 
And  whilst  He  other  food  denyes 
Diets  Himselfe  wth  Victories. 

Now  twas  time  no  more  to  dwell 
In  Obscurities  dark  Cell : 
Heavn  dar'd  venture  Him  abroad 
In  some  large  &  fair  Abode, 
Large  as  his  mighty  Soule,  &  fair 
As  his  high  Atchievments  were. 
His  loftie  Theater  shall  be 
An  emblem  of  his  Constancie, 
A  Pillar  stout  &  tall  set  forth 
To  ye  view  of  Heavn  &  Earth ; 
That  mounted  in  ye  Aire  on  high 
That  Elements  Prince  He  may  defie, 
And  Angells,  Men,  &  God  may  fill 
Their  eyes  wth  this  brave  Spectacle. 

Brave  Spectacle  indeed  !     Great  Rome 
Had  no  such  noble  sight  at  home, 
No  Pillar  Arch,  or  Monument 
Of  conquerd  Worlds  gave  such  content 
As  this  one  Column  :  wherfore  Shee 
With  devout  Humilitie 
Its  Shadow  borroweth,  to  gild 
All  her  Streets,  wch  now  are  filld 


Columna  S.   Simeonis  Stylitae    257 

With  copied  Simeon  :  every  Door 
Henceforth  will  ope  &  shut  no  more 
But  under  His  Protection,  who 
Ingraven  stands  above  to  show 
On  whose  stout  Prayers  &  Charitie 
Th'  Inhabitants  within  relie. 

And  in  these  senselesse  Shapes  indeed 
The  Saint  might  stand  long  years,  &  need 
No  reliefe :  but  how  shall  He 
Advance  soft  Flesh  &  Blood  to  be 
Of  Marbles  Constitution,  and 
Unmoved  as  his  Pillar  stand  ? 
The  World  now  staggers  at  ye  sight, 
Grows  jealous  that  it  sees  not  right : 
And  One  ye  Speaker  for  ye  rest 
Humbly  doth  ye  Saint  contest 
To  clear  Ages  Jealousie 
And  his  Temper  to  descry  ; 
To  speak  whether  his  Metall  were 
No  other  then  it  did  appeare  : 
Whither  it  were  not  of  ye  same 
Pure  cast,  whence  Heavn  did  Angells  frame, 
Whose  blessed  Wings  still  fann  away 
All  ye  wearines  which  They 
May  seem  to  gather  as  they  flie 
On  Errands  round  about  ye  skie. 

A  gracefull  Blush  quickly  made  good 
That  Simeon  guilty  was  of  Blood  : 
And  that  his  Flesh  was  truly  so, 
A  deep  ingraven  Mark  will  show ; 
Which  now  He  could  no  longer  hide, 
He  shews  his  foot :  where  loe  a  wide 
Mouth  of  a  putrifyed  Wound 
Drops  large  confession  on  ye  ground. 
Look  heer,  says  He,  how  rottennesse 
Gins  Me  already  to  possesse, 
And  judge  whither  I  a  Spirit  be, 
Or  weaker  Worme  then  these  you  see, 
Which  on  my  foot  in  Triumph  pray 
Unto  my  Heart  eating  their  way. 


258      Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

O  mighty  Patience  !     Simeon 

As  sure  &  steady  stands  upon 

This  most  vexatious  gnawing  wound 

As  stood  his  Pillar  on  ye  ground : 

And  fighting  with  Immortall  Foes 

Indures  from  Wormes  those  piercing  Woes, 

If  yet  they  pierce  Him,  &  all  sense 

Of  Mortall  Pains  be  not  long  since 

Quite  drownd  in  that  exuberant  Sea 

Of  his  Angelik  Fervencie, 

Whose  Mystik  Power  hath  made  Him  now 

All  Soule :  Sure  Simeon  feels  no  blow 

Nor  wound,  but  those,  wch  LOVE'S  sweet  Darts 

Bestow  on  Saints  Delicious  Hearts. 

Twas  LOVE,  which  on  ye  Pillar  set 
Him  as  his  fairest  Mark,  whereat 
To  aime,  &  trie  his  Heavnly  skill, 
Which  wth  Darts  of  Life  doth  kill, 
And  in  ten  thousand  Deaths  doth  give 
A  sweet  Necessitie  to  Live  : 
To  Live  a  LIFE  of  WOUNDS,  but  those 
So  healing,  that  ye  Soule  would  choose 
Rather  Ease's  Pangs,  then  not 
By  those  Arrows  to  be  shot. 

LOVE  shot  full  oft,  &  every  Dart 
Flew  directly  to  the  Heart 
Of  this  fair  Mark  ;  At  last  He  cries, 
Mine  alone,  Mine  is  ye  Prize : 
The  Tempters  Arrows  are  in  vain, 
Mine  alone  the  Man  have  slain  : 
Mine  He  is,  &  Mine  shall  be  ; 
No  Title  to  Himselfe  hath  He : 
Him  I  challange  by  ye  Law 
Of  greatest  Arms,  &  mean  to  draw 
Him  home  in  Triumph  after  Me 
In  token  of  my  Victorie. 

Then  farewell  Noble  Captive,  goe, 
Thy  Conqueror  will  make  Thee  so  : 
No  state  so  glorious  is,  &  free, 
As  that  of  Thy  Captivitie. 


Columna  S.   Simeonis   Stylitae    259 

That  holy  Appetite,  which  thy 

Long  Fasts  begot,  shall  satisfie 

Itselfe  with  Heavn  :  far  higher  now 

Then  was  thy  loftie  Pillar,  Thou 

Shalt  be  exalted,  &  above 

In  ye  warme  bosome  of  thy  LOVE 

Be  payd  for  thy  cold  Station  heer. 

Farewell,  Brave  Soule,  &  though  thy  Sphear 

Be  too  high  for  Us,  &  our 

Poor  Songs  to  reach,  yet  will  we  poure 

Them  on  ye  noble  Place  of  thy 

Dear  feet,  &  heap  our  Prayses  high 

To  crowne  thy  Column,  or  to  be 

Crowned  by  its  Nobilitie. 


S.    Gregorie  Nazianzen 

May  9. 

NE'R  would  I  owne  this  thing  of  mine, 
Which  some  perhaps  a  Muse  will  call, 
If  it  forgets  to  wait  on  Thine, 
Which  comprehends  ye  Other  Muses  all. 

For  more  of  them  ne'r  dwelt  upon 
Learned  Parnassus  double  Head 
Then  harbour  in  thy  single  one, 
And  finde  this  latter  house  best  furnished. 

Furnished  with  holy  store 
Of  nobler  Raptures  then  till  now 
Snatchd  Poets  Soules  away,  &  bore 
It  far  above  these  grosser  Things  below : 

Raptures  of  purest  Loves,  wherby 
Thy  Heart  on  Angells  Wings  did  soar 
Unto  a  pitch  more  fair  &  high 
Then  Graecian  Quills  e'r  towred  to  before. 

By  Thee  to  Heavn  ye  Muses  rise, 
And  ravishd  in  Divinitie 
Sing  with  Birds  of  Paradise 
Layes,  which  ennoble  rescue'd  Poetrie. 
260 


S.   Gregorie  Nazianzen  261 

Whither  in  Heroiks  stately  pace, 
Or  nimble  Lyriks  softer  dance, 
Or  in  grave  Iambiks  grace, 
Still  dost  Thou  goe  with  matchlesse  excellence. 

Illustrious  Saint,  thy  noble  Brow 
All  crownd  with  everlasting  Baies 
Thee  Prince  of  Poetrie  doth  show, 
Who  all  ye  Muses  mak'st  Urania's. 

Oft  has  my  earthly  Soule  from  Thee 
And  thy  rich  lines  suckd  Heavnly  Fire, 
Oft  have  I  kiss'd  thy  leaves,  wch  be 
The  sweet  Incentives  of  devout  Desire. 

Fain  would  I  eccho  something  back 
Though  faint,  &  short  of  thy  due  Praises  j 
Which  though  thy  Honour  doth  not  lack, 
My  Pen  to  Thine,  &  Thee,  these  Altars  raises. 


I 

And  this,  Dear  Saint,  must  be  ye  first  layd  Stone 
Thou  wert  a  Great  before  a  little  One ; 

Son  of  thy  Mothers  Prayers  wert  Thou 
Before  her  Wombe  with  Thee  did  grow : 
For  Nonna  prayes 
That  Heavn  would  raise 
Her  Seed,  which  Shee 
Might  yeild  to  bee 
Onely  Heavns  j  And  Heavn  to  Her 
Long  Zeal  doth  bow  its  pleased  ear  : 
Aforehand  it  assumes  thy  prosperous  Birth, 
Whilst  in  a  Vision  Nonna  brings  Thee  forth. 

Unto  her  watchfull  Soule  did  God  display 
Thy  figure,  whilst  her  Body  sleeping  lay ; 
Thy  Person,  &  thy  genuine  look 
She  read  in  that  miraculous  Book : 


262     Poems  of  Joseph    Beaumont 

And  with  these,  there 
Was  written  faire 
Thy  vertuous  Name, 
The  very  same, 
Which  now  Thou  wearest,  Gregorie 
E'r  Thou  wert  born  appeard  to  be 
Thy  VIGILANT  TITLE,  who  though  shown  in  sleep 
Wert  marked  many  a  pious  Watch  to  keep. 


Thus  bigg  with  Hope,  &  shortly  bigg  with  Thee 
Nonna  her  reverend  Wombe  doth  swelling  see. 
Lighter  grows  Her  Heart,  as  this 
Doth  increase  in  Heavinesse ; 

No  Moneths,  says  she, 
Shall  naseous  be 
To  Me,  who  here 
My  Comfort  beare, 
A  Flowre  of  mine  owne  Seed,  wch  may 
Flourish  to  Heavn  another  Day. 
No  Longings  shall  stretch  out  my  Soule,  but  one, 
By  which  I  Long  againe  to  see  my  Sonne. 

Now  brings  Shee  forth  &  all  her  Pangs  are  sweet, 
Which  layd  Her  Holy  Hopes  before  her  feet. 
Gladly  ye  Infant  Face  Shee  sees 
How  with  Heavns  Modell  it  agrees, 
Each  lineament 
Holds  true  consent, 
And  this  is  Hee 
Her  Gregorie : 
In  a  thousand  joyfull  kisses 
Thankfull  Devotion  Shee  expresses, 
And  renders  God  by  Solemne  Consecration 
What  Shee  receiv'd  by  His  so  kind  Dignation. 

And  now  not  as  the  Mother,  but  the  Maid 
And  nurse  to  Heavns  great  Pledge,  she  is  afraid 
To  use  the  Infant  but  as  One, 
Whom  God  had  made  her  foster-son : 


S.   Gregorie  Nazianzen         263 

With  tender  Care 
She  doth  prepare 
All  things  yl  may 
Another  Day 
Proclaime  as  much  :  His  tender  Heart 
Shee  seasons  with  religious  Art, 
And  brings  Him  up  as  if  Shee  Tutoresse  were 
To  educate  some  tender  Angell  heere. 


O  happy  Thou,  to  whom  thy  Mother  can 
Give  Thee  a  double  Life  to  make  Thee  Man ! 
Thou  breathst  ye  Aire  wth  Us  below, 
And  that,  wch  doth  in  Heavns  Fields  blow ; 
Ev'n  Gods  Great  Spirit 
Thou  doth  inherit 
So  soone,  that  how 
Thou  dost  not  know  : 
Thy  blooming  Budd  is  sweetned  by 
The  Gales  of  Paradise,  which  flie 
Thick  in  that  breath,  by  which  thy  Mother  makes 
Those  blessed  Words  to  Thee  She  dayly  speakes. 

Thus  in  the  best  of  Learning  skilld,  art  Thou 
At  length  sent  out  the  lesser  Arts  to  know. 
To  Greece,  &  Greeces  purest  Fount, 
For  such  the  World  did  Athens  count, 
Thy  course  is  bent, 
And  well  content 
Art  Thou  to  goe 
Further  then  so 
If  Learning  further  dwelt ;  let  gold 
And  hope  of  Gemmes  make  Others  bold  : 
Knowledge  though  ne'r  so  poor,  can  seem  to  Thee 
Of  worth  enough  to  make  Thee  scorne  the  Sea. 

Yet  thy  Adventure  dangerous  doth  prove : 
The  Winds  conspire,  and  all  the  Sea  doth  move 

It  selfe  against  Thee ;  ne'r  did  waves 

Split  into  profounder  Graves  : 


264     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

No  Tempest  e'r 
Rended  ye  Aire 
Wth  threats  more  loud, 
No  Storme  did  crowd 
Fuller  into  any  Bark ; 
Highnoon  Day  ne'r  grew  more  dark  j 
Wrack  &  Confusion  never  seemd  to  be 
More  ripe,  then  these,  which  gape  to  swallow  Thee. 


Feare  &  Despair  through  all  the  Shipmen  went, 
Whose  Hearts  more  then  their  tatterd  Sailes  were  rent. 
But  yet  the  Stormes  impatient  Noise 
Scarse  was  higher  then  the  Voice 
Of  thy  strong  Cries, 
Wth  which  thine  Eyes 
Their  Floods  did  joine, 
And  sighs  combine 
Into  a  Tempest  neer  as  great 
As  that  wch  on  the  vessell  beat, 
So  that  the  Sailers  thought  no  more  upon 
The  other  Storme,  amaz'd  at  thine  alone. 

Alas,  Thou  hadst  not  yet  been  drenched  in 
Those  Holy  Streams,  which  serve  to  wash  our  Sin ; 
And  therfore  fearst  these  Waves  wch  can 
Destroy,  but  never  save  a  Man. 

This  makes  thy  Crie 
So  strong  &  high 
To  Him,  whose  hand 
Could  strait  command 
The  fiercest  Ocean  :  never  eare 
Did  more  violent  Prayers  heare : 
Ne'r  did  distressed  Soule  crie  out  like  Thee, 
And  that  for  Water  in  the  swelling  Sea. 

What  Eyes  can  read  thy  Lamentation,  and 

Not  Sympathize  with  thine  ?     My  Soule  doth  stand 

Amazd,  when  in  thy  revernd  Book 

Upon  that  tragik  Leaf  I  look ; 


S.   Gregorie  Nazianzen         265 

Wondring  what  cries 
Can  win  the  skies, 
If  these  wch  rend  them 
Cannot  bend  them 
If  any  Tempest  can  outcrie 
Such  importunate  Fervencie. 
None  can  outcrie  it:  JESUS  yeilds  at  last 
And  into  their  owne  Deeps  the  Waves  doth  cast. 

The  Winds,  as  blown  quite  out  of  breath,  are  hurld 
Into  their  furthest  corners  of  the  World. 

Heavn  doffs  that  clowdy  veil,  wherby 
The  Storm  hath  dampt  its  beauteous  Eye, 
And  doth  display 
A  gentle  Day 
Upon  the  Sea 
Now  calme  &  free, 
Which  shews  thy  Ship  her  way  unto 
The  wished  Port :  thus  dost  Thou  goe 
With  weather  beaten  Safety  to  the  Shoare, 
And  this  so  brittle  Life  will  trust  no  more  : 

For  to  the  Holy  Fount  Thou  runnst  apace 
There  to  be  drenched  in  the  Streams  of  Grace, 

That  Thou  henceforth  no  more  mayst  fear 
Whatever  Tempest  shall  appeare. 
Where  to  expresse 
Thy  Thankfulnesse, 
To  Heavn  dost  Thou 
Present  a  vow 
Worthy  of  it  &  Thee  :  Thy  Toung 
Solemnly  undertakes,  how  long 
Soe'r  Thou  liv'st  from  all  Oaths  to  refraine : 
Thou  strictly  swearest  ne'r  to  sweare  againe. 


266     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 


ii 

All  Athens  now  thy  vast  Capacitie 
Quickly  drinks  in,  but  is  not  filld  therby : 
The  Amplitude  of  every  Art 
Made  haste  to  lodge  in  thy  large  Heart 
Which  entertaines  them 
All,  &  traines  them 
Unto  a  pitch 
More  high  &  rich 
Then  ever  they  had  learnd  to  flie 
On  Wings  of  Pagan  Industrie. 
Thou  best  the  Academie  prove'st  thy  Mother 
By  growing  up  thy  selfe  just  such  another. 

Though  ruddy  yeouths  sleek  smiles  upon  thy  Face 
Still  keep  their  modest  dwelling,  Thou  dost  passe 
For  One  all  Gray  within,  Thy  Braine 
Betimes  is  Age'd,  y*  doth  containe 
More  store  of  years 
By  far  then  theirs, 
Whose  wrinkled  skin 
Doth  reverence  win 
Upon  Presumption  no  Man  could 
Live  so  long  to  be  befoold ; 
And  turne  a  Child  againe  in  Head,  which  He 
By  Natures  Rule,  onely  in  feet  should  be. 

The  Chaire  is  mounted,  &  Thou  must  ascend. 
Young  as  Thou  art,  old  Auditors  will  lend 
Their  sober  eares,  &  much  rejoice 
To  hear  their  young  Professors  Voice ; 
Who  sweetly  wise 
His  gravnes  ties 
To  sprightfull  wit, 
Wch  loves  to  sit 
On  yeouthfull  subtile  Toungs  :  All  Greece 
Surpriz'd  with  admiration  is 
At  these  thy  Oracles,  which  make  it  follow 
Thee  full  as  young,  as  was  their  wise  Apollo. 


S.   Gregorie  Nazianzen  267 


But  that  which  Athens  did  to  Thee  indeare 
Was  that  thy  Soule  met  with  another  there 
Right  fit  for  thy  sweet  Company, 
A  Soule,  wch  did  wth  thine  agree 
In  every  part 
Of  thy  best  Art, 
A  Soule  whose  Pulse 
Beat  nothing  else 
But  love  &  Heavn,  a  Soule  so  nigh 
Resembling  thine,  that  Amitie 
At  length  mistook,  counting  thy  Heart  to  be 
In  Basils  Breast,  &  his  to  pant  in  Thee. 


Never  did  Chance  of  Nature  tie  a  knott 
Into  so  strait  a  Union,  as  that 

Which  Virtues  knitt,  &  Graces  tie 
In  a  Band  of  Pietie. 

Now  Basil  loves, 
And  lives,  &  moves 
In  Gregorie; 
And  mutuall  He 
Loves  Basil  back  againe,  &  lives 
By  that  Life  away  He  gives. 
Thus  when  two  Floods  imbrace,  they  loose  each  other 
In  the  pellucid  Bosome  of  his  Brother. 


Such  noble  Soules  alone  as  thine  can  prize 
A  worthy  Friend  aright :  whatever  lies 
In  India's  pretious  bowells,  is 
Not  so  golden  gold  as  this ; 

No  radiant  Gemme 
By  whose  rich  beame 
The  new  rose  East 
Is  sprucest  drest 
Such  ravishing  lustre  forth  doth  send 
As  this  short  Word,  A  WORTHY  FRIEND. 
A  Friend  is  Patience,  Care,  &  Secresie, 
Comfort,  Advise,  Help,  &  Communitie. 


268     Poems  of  Joseph   Beaumont 

Thus  wert  Thou  marryed  to  thy  Masculine  Spouse 
When  the  Soule  weds,  no  uselesse  Sex  she  knows ; 
And  heere  thy  Soule,  &  that  alone 
Enters  NUPTIALL  UNION. 
No  Female  shall 
Think  to  prevaile 
By  blandishment 
On  thy  consent : 
Though  thy  breast  be  large,  yet  Thou 
Hast  but  one  Heart  to  bestow, 
And  that  is  BASILS,  who  esteems  it  so 
That  for  the  World  He  will  not  let  it  goe. 


Yet  will  a  Paire  of  noble  Wooers  see 
What  they  can  doe  upon  Thee :  Faire  they  bee 
And  Virgins  both,  who  clothed  by 
A  beauteous  Vision,  to  thine  eye 

Themselves  propose : 
What,  must  they  lose 
Their  loving  pains 
In  thy  Disdains  ? 
Must  the  wrinkles  of  thy  face 
Duer  to  smiles,  themselves  disgrace 
By  turning  Frowns  ?     What  needs  Severity 
To  ask  these  gentle  Strangers  what  they  be  ? 


Know  their  answer  is :  They  Sisters  are 
Descended  from  Heavns  stock,  &  come  thus  far 
To  make  Thee  sure  of  what  thy  will 
Is  most  ambitious  to  fulfill ; 
To  ratine 
Thy  Puritie 
And  to  increase 
We  learned  Greece 
Begun  in  Thee  :  nay  Bothe  beside 
Meane  this  night  to  be  thy  Bride  : 
Heavn  sent  them  on  this  busines,  &  they  be 
Prudence  the  One,  the  other  Chastitie. 


S.   Gregorie  Nazianzen  269 

Sweet  are  your  Names,  sayst  Thou,  but  sweeter  are 
Your  royall  Persons,  which  those  Titles  weare. 
Be  it  a  Match ;  such  Mayds  as  you 
Indanger  not  a  Virgin  Vow. 

Heer,  take  my  Heart 
Never  to  part, 
Your  Gregorie 
Will  live  &  die 
Your  faithfull  Spouse,  if  He  but  lend 
His  help,  who  you  did  hither  send. 
Thus,  Glorious  Saint,  Thou  putst  thyselfe  asleep 
Into  that  State,  which  waking  Thou  shalt  keep. 


Ill 

Accomplishd  Soule,  I  must  have  leave  to  be 
Of  that  Opinion,  which  was  held  of  Thee 
By  all  the  World  except  by  thy 
Owne  Paradox  HUMILITIE. 

Such  heavnly  skill 
Thy  Soule  doth  fill 
That  none  could  be 
More  fit  then  Thee 
For  Heavns  imployment,  none  more  fit 
To  help  up  humble  Soules  to  it. 
No  Head  so  furnishd  to  support  aright 
A  MITRES  mystik  unbeleeved  weight. 

To  thy  most  perspicatious  Wisdome  this 
Sacred  &  glorious  Errour  proper  is  : 

Hadst  Thou  been  like  Us,  lesse  learn'd, 
Never  had  thy  soule  discernd 

The  Pastorall  Charge 
To  be  so  large 
And  huge  a  Load  : 
Ne'r  hadst  Thou  stood 
So  nicely  on  thy  weaknesse,  as 
To  prove  more  weak  in  letting  pass 
So  fair  Preferment.     We  look  now  adayes 
How  deep's  the  MITRES  gilt,  not  what  it  weighs. 


2  jo     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

Yet  to  thy  awfull  Parents  Contestation 
And  urgent  Wills,  thine  owne  Thou  striv'st  to  fashion. 
Thy  feeble  Fathers  Shadow  now 
In  his  Dioceese  art  Thou  j 

How  bright  so  e'r 
The  rays  appear 
Wch  break  from  Thee, 
Thou  wilt  not  be 
More  then  so ;  Nay  when  this  Throne 
And  a  full  election 
After  thy  Fathers  Death  long  wooed  Thee, 
It  could  not  conquer  thy  Humilitie. 


All  Nazianzum  likes  not  Thee  so  well 
As  doth  ye  Pleasure  of  thy  Pontik  Cell  j 

Where  Thou  thy  Death  canst  antidate, 
And  dwell  in  Heavn  before  thy  fate 
Shall  send  Thee  up ; 
Where  Thou  canst  crop 
And  prune  away 
All  things  that  prey 
Upon  our  vitall  Moisture,  Pleasures, 
Preferments,  &  superfluous  Treasures ; 
Possessing  all  thy  Selfe  intirely  free 
From  our  vaine  Worlds  inchanting  Tyrannic 


Nor  shall  thy  Basil  Thee  persuade  to  be 
Content  to  suffer  Publik  Dignitie, 

Or  make  Thee  ever  set  upon 
The  new  erect  Sasamean  Throne. 
So  deep  doth  this 
Designe  of  His 
Wound  Thee  &  thy 
Humilitie, 
That  strong  Complaints  break  out,  whose  course 
Runs  so  far,  &  with  such  force, 
That  much  they  did  prevaile,  &  had  well  nigh 
In  sunder  rent  your  Bond  of  Amitie. 


S.   Gregorie  Nazianzen  271 

Yet  can  thy  Resolutions  not  withstand 
Heavns  providentiall  overruling  Hand  : 

If  Heavn  please  to  appoint  Thee  Heir 
Ev'n  to  Constantinoples  Chair 

Thou  wilt  not  shrink 
Away,  nor  think 
Thy  Selfe  unfit 
Therin  to  sit : 
Thou  wilt  not  shrink  for  any  Storme, 
That  Hell  &  Heresie  can  arme 
Against  thy  single  Head,  that  Head,  whose  sheild 
All  Heavn  becomes,  when  er  Thou  tak'st  ye  feild. 


This  royall  City  was  invenome'd  by 
That  part  of  Hell,  which  at  the  Trinitie 

Its  poyson  spits  ;  Such  potent  Foes 
What  Mortall  now  will  dare  oppose  ? 
What  Valiant  He 
Will  Champion  be, 
And  stretch  his  hand 
To  countermand 
The  mighty  Stream,  wch  floweth  forth 
First  from  Hell,  &  then  from  Earth  ? 
Who  dares  divide  his  God,  &  therby  sow 
Division  too  among  Mens  Hearts  below  ? 


Why,  Gregorie  without  Division  can 
Untie  this  knott,  and  in  that  Union 

A  Triad  find  &  prove ;  no  Net 
By  Sophistik  cunning  set 

Can  trap  his  feet, 
No  swelling  Threat 
Can  terrifie 
His  Constancie : 
JESUS  is  his  God,  and  He 
That  mystik  Truth  can  prove  to  be 
As  sure  &  sound  y'  wondring  Christians  joine 
This  Name  to  crowne  his  other,  the  DIVINE. 


2*] 2     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

He  now  becomes  allmost  the  Rule  wherby 
The  Catholik  World  their  faithfull  Truths  doe  trie, 
And  thus  resolve  their  Questions  :  This 
Gregories  Opinion  is. 

This  makes  his  foes 
Blush  to  propose 
Their  Spurious  Reason ; 
No  :  They  by  Treason 
Will  now  dispute,  &  take  a  Course 
Their  Bishop  to  confute  perforce. 
Their  Argument  acute  &  strong  shall  be 
A  desperate  Sword  manage'd  by  Crueltie. 


Fools  as  you  are,  now  learne  at  least  that  He 
Whom  Gregorie  asserts  has  Dietie 

Enough  to  conquer  Hell  &  you  : 
What  makes  your  gallant  Murderer  throw 
His  Sword  away 
Without  delay 
When  he  is  come 
Into  the  room 
Appointed  for  the  Murder  ?     What 
Casts  your  Soldier  downe  so  flat 
Before  th'  unarmed  Saint,  &  makes  him  pray 
For  Pardon,  to  the  Man  He  came  to  slay. 


But  harmes  which  sometimes  Foes  cannot  effect, 
Are  easlyer  done  by  those  we  least  suspect ; 

And  they  which  wear  ye  Name  of  Friend 
Can  soonest  noblest  Soules  offend, 
Soules  which  know 
Full  stoutly  how 
To  oppose 
Apparent  Foes. 
Thy  Friends  and  Mitred  Brethern  be 
The  Host,  Great  Saint,  wch  fights  wth  Thee ; 
The  reverend  Councill  in  thy  Citty  mett 
Grow  emulous,  and  against  thy  Peace  are  set. 


S.   Gregorie  Nazianzen         273 

Nor  thine  alone,  but  thy  dear  Mothers  too, 
The  Churches  Peace  by  this  they  overthrow  : 
A  Peace  wch  is  more  dear  to  Thee 
Then  thy  Throne  &  Mitre  be ; 

Yea  then  thy  Life, 
If  so  their  Strife 
Will  needs  require  : 
All  thy  desire 
Is  thine  owne  Peace  to  sacrifice 
Unto  thy  Mothers  j  Thou  canst  prize 
No  Patriarchall  Dignitie  so  high, 
As  with  the  Churches  Quiet,  Privacy. 


Yee  holy  Fathers,  who  are  met  to  make 
Up  all  the  Churches  rents,  oh  hear  me  speak, 
Hear,  sayst  Thou  this  once  from  Me 
A  Vote,  which  tends  to  Unitie : 

The  Storms  wch  heer 
So  high  appeare 
Perchance  may  cease 
In  blessed  Peace, 
If  worthlesseT  like  Jonas  be 
Resigned  to  the  gaping  Sea. 
Heer  therfore  I  renounce  my  envy'd  Throne 
More  freely,  then  I  put  my  Mitre  on. 


Thus  didst  Thou  scape  into  thy  long  wishd  Nest 
Of  a  devout  and  solitarie  Rest. 

Thy  Soule  unhamperd  &  set  free 
From  thy  incumbring  Dignitie 

Finds  ample  space 
Of  Time  &  Place 
To  sit  &  sing 
Of  every  thing, 
Which  tossd  &  troubled  her  before 
The  Tempest  cast  her  on  this  shore. 
For  from  thy  Cradle  takes  thy  Muse  her  Rise 
And  to  this  Days  Exploit  unwearied  flies. 


274     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

The  Evening  of  Thy  Life  Thou  solacest 
With  her  sweet  Lay's  to  bring  thy  Soule  to  rest 
In  softest  Peace,  &  to  prepare 
It  for  the  heavnly  Consort,  where 
A  Part  must  be 
Chanted  by  Thee 
In  that  high  Song, 
Which  lasts  as  long 
As  thy  sublimest  Wish  :  No  feare 
That  Discord  shall  affront  Thee  there 
To  vex  thy  peacefull  Heart,  &  make  Thee  throw 
Thy  Honour  off,  as  Thou  didst  heer  below. 


S.  Joseph 


FORGIVE  this  Wrong,  brave  Soule,  that  other  Toungs 
Have  with  thine  holy  Glories  swelld  their  Songs, 
Whilst  ours  was  grown  too  proud  to  sing 
An  handicraft  &  simple  Thing. 
Loe  here  a  Muse,  as  poore  and  plaine  as  Thou 
Thy  selfe  didst  seem,  offers  her  humble  vow. 

Her  vow  to  teach  our  English  how  to  frame 

Its  homage  to  thy  long-forgotten  Name, 
That  now  no  talking  Traveller 
May  tell  for  News  that  He  did  heare 

In  Spain  &  France  how  JOSEPH  us'd  to  goe 

For  current  Saint ;  In  England  Thou  art  so. 

Illustrious  Saint,  who  mak'st  thy  Royall  Line 

In  Povertie  with  richer  Glories  shine 

Then  when  upon  its  WISEST  HEAD 
The  fairest  Crowne  of  ISRAEL  stood, 

He  by  his  numerous  Wives  his  honour  stain'd, 

Thou  by  thy  ONE  thy  dignitie  hast  gain'd. 

What  though  seven  hundred  Beauties  of  ye  East, 
All  sprung  from  Royall  Stocks,  themselves  did  cast 
Into  his  lustfull  Bed  ?     Yet  still 
More  Glory  in  thy  Spouse  does  dwell ; 
Seven  hundred  Princesses  lesse  beauteous  be 
Then  One  the  Sole  Queen  of  VIRGINITIE. 

275 


276     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

Great  Pharaoh's  Daughter  though  her  face  &  ey 
Convey'd  all  Egypts  lovely  Majestie 

Into  Judea,  did  not  bring 

Halfe  so  delicious  a  Thing 
As  thy  Sweet  Spouse  shall  carry  back,  when  Shee 
Ev'n  in  her  meanest  State  shall  hither  flee. 

That  SONG  OF  SONGS,  in  wch  th'  inspired  King 
Rapt  far  above  his  owne  Loves,  strove  to  sing 
Of  a  Diviner  Spouse,  for  whom 
All  Heavn  a  Wooer  would  become, 
Paints  out  that  Maries  Prayses,  wch  to  Thee 
In  purest  Wedlock  now  must  joyned  be. 

Angells  themselves  in  marriage  thus  may  give 

In  Conjugall  Virginitie  to  live  : 

For  thats  the  wondrous  Life  wch  Thou 
Will  with  this  Angell  lead  below ; 

And  grown  all  Spirit  antidate  by  this 

Celestiall  Life,  the  futures  Virgin  Bliss. 

But  Jealousy  steps  in  a  while,  &  tries 
Thy  righteous  tender  Soule  to  exercise  : 

Thy  Spouse,  whom  Thou  presumedst  to  be 

Thy  Sister  in  Virginitie, 
Proves  big  with  Child ;  O  what  shall  Joseph  doe 
Whose  most  afflicted  Soule's  as  big  with  woe. 

He  cannot  Mary  hate,  nor  her  expose 
A  publik  scorne  to  her  insulting  Foes ; 

But  being  just,  He  needs  must  part 
With  Her  once  dearer  then  his  Heart. 
Yet  will  in  privite  Her  Divorce,  that  Shee 
Her  &  her  fault  might  shroud  in  Secresie. 

Thus  drownd  in  Tears  &  Thoughts  a  gentle  sleep 

Upon  thy  heavy  brow  began  to  creep : 

When  kind  &  carefull  Heavn  did  send 
Unto  thy  Soule  thy  Winged  Friend ; 

Sweet  was  his  face,  Joy  smile'd  in  both  his  eyes 

Which  with  his  Tongue  he  bad  in  thine  arise. 


S.  Joseph  277 


Feare  not,  said  He,  Good  Joseph,  Davids  Son, 

Feare  not  to  let  thy  Nuptialls  goe  on  : 

How  can  thy  Maries  Wombe  not  be 
Big,  which  containes  Divinitie? 

God's  breeding  there :  Heavns  Spirit  wch  doth  give 

Life  ev'n  to  Life  it  selfe,  made  Her  conceive. 

But  I  must  tell  Thee  so :  for  humble  Shee 
Will  not  ye  Trump  to  her  owne  honour  be, 

But  rather  chuse  that  all  this  while 
False  Jealousie  should  Thee  beguile, 
And  staine  her  Credit,  then  her  Tongue  should  tell 
That  God  vouchsafes  within  her  Wombe  to  dwell. 

For  Him  thy  Mary  shall  bring  forth ;  &  Thou 
His  Name  must  JESUS  call,  from  whom  shall  flow 

A  sure  &  generall  Salvation 

To  every  beleeving  Nation. 
This  said,  the  Angell  vanishd ;  after  Him 
The  Sleep  took  Wing,  &  so  brake  up  ye  Dream. 

Thou  wakened  thus,  &  knowing  well  that  thy 
Owne  Guardian  Angell  used  no  forgery, 

With  faithfull  trembling  joy  unto 
Thy  pregnant  Virgin  Spouse  dost  goe, 
And  her,  thy  gentle  Judge,  for  pardon  pray 
Whom  jealous  Thou  hadst  wronged  yesterday. 

O  with  what  reverend  Love  &  Care  dost  Thou 
Attend  on  Her,  whom  Thou  beleevest  now 

To  be  Gods  Spouse  as  well  as  thine 
And  far  lesse  humane  then  Divine  ! 
And  with  what  earnest  strife  doth  lowly  Shee 
Beat  back  those  dutifull  Respects  to  Thee ! 

But  Caesars  Edict  to  ye  tax  doth  call. 

Thou  must  in  haste  to  Bethlem,  Spouse  &  all, 

To  that  proud  Towne,  wch  yeilds  no  room 
When  Povertie  a  guest  doth  come, 

But  some  discourteous  Cave  :  Thus  scorned  Thou 

Who  many  a  house  hath  built,  doth  want  one  now. 


278     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

But  He  built  many  more,  who  by  &  by 
Will  bless  his  World  with  His  Nativitie 

Ev'n  in  this  Place,  which  howsoe'r 

Contemptible  it  doth  appeare, 
Shall  outshine  Heavn ;  such  power  hath  Christmas  Day ; 
Nor  can  proud  Heretiks  vote  it  away. 

Joy,  Noble  Saint,  th'  Eternall  Father  heere 

Hath  given  Thee  leave  his  dearest  Name  to  wear ; 
Thou  too  shalt  Father  called  be 
Of  his  great  Son,  who  now  to  Thee 

Committed  is.     Was  ever  Trust  so  large  ! 

God,  and  Gods  Mother  are  left  to  thy  charge. 

And  soone  Thou  shalt  have  work,  for  Herods  wrath 
Through  thousands  Infants  Breasts  decreed  hath 

To  dig  its  way  to  JESU'S  Heart. 

Thou  from  thy  Country  must  depart, 
No  longer  Bethlem,  but  design'd  to  be 
(So  Hell  &  Herod  vote)  A  Butcherie. 

Thou  must  depart :  thy  privy  Counsellor, 
Thy  Angell  tells  Thee  so.     Flie  with  thy  dear 
Charge  into  Egypt,  flie,  says  He  : 
O  that  these  wings  of  mine  might  be 
Their  Chariot  !     But  this  noble  favour  must 
Be  thine,  whom  Heavn  has  honourd  wth  this  Trust. 

Great  was  thy  haste,  as  was  thy  Love  :  e'r  Night 
Was  fled  before  ye  face  of  dawning  Light, 

From  Bethlem  Thou  hadst  borne  away 

The  better  &  the  purer  Day : 
The  Noble  Names-sake  journying  heertofore 
Much  lesse  Salvation  into  Egypt  bore. 

With  what  observance  didst  Thou  forward  goe 

Both  to  the  Son,  &  to  the  Mother  too, 

What  fear,  lest  thine  owne  loving  breast 
In  His,  or  Hers  should  be  distrest, 

What  tenderness  to  keep  the  Mother  warme, 

What  daintie  Care  that  God  should  take  no  harme  I 


S.  Joseph  279 


In  Egypt  Thou  keptst  house  awhile  with  thy 

Although  but  small,  yet  heavnly  familie, 

Untill  thine  Angell  thither  came 
And  counsells  Thee  to  travell  home. 

Herod  was  dead,  &  now  ye  Jews  will  give 

JESUS,  their  owne  lives  fountaine,  leave  to  live. 

O  blessed  Saint,  what  glorious  Conversation 

Hadst  Thou  in  that  great  Infants  education, 
Who,  though  the  King  of  Majestie 
Deignd  to  be  Subject  unto  Thee. 

Unto  astonishment  I  must  submit 

When  I  revolve  thy  Life  in  Nazaret. 

Surely  the  Heavnly  Quire  would  gladly  come 
To  make  in  thy  poore  House  their  nobler  Home, 

And  finde  their  Service  full  as  high 

In  thy  sublime  Oeconomie  : 
Finding  no  cause  for  Angels  now  to  scorne 
The  Carpenters  Apprentices  to  turne. 

Heer  might  they  see  their  Makers  blessed  eyes, 
Which  when  He  was  at  home  with  them  surprize 
With  Light  intolerable :  heer 
With  safe  accesse  they  might  draw  neer 
His  simple  Cradle,  whose  illustrious  Throne 
Above,  they  found  too  bright  to  look  upon. 

But  how  at  length,  Deare  Saint,  how  couldst  Thou  dy, 

When  Life  it  selfe  dwelt  in  thy  Family? 

Gave  JESUS  leave  to  Love  &  Joy 
Thy  overcharged  Heart  to  slay  ? 

Lest  if  Thou  still  shouldst  live  His  Death  to  see, 

That  One  might  thousand  others  heap  on  Thee. 

Goe  then,  Sweet  Soule,  in  peace  &  stand  a  while 

Behinde  the  Curtaine,  till  thy  Lord  fulfill 

His  Tragedie  :  Then  shalt  Thou  be 
Restored  to  His  dear  Companie, 

And  wait  upon  Him  in  His  glorious  Way 

Unto  His  Throne  upon  Ascension  Day. 


Natalitium  :  Mart]  13,   1645 


T 


IRE'D  with  my  PSYCHE,  (for  ye  Song 
Though  wondrous  hudled,  yet  was  long, 
And  near 
A  year 
Consumed  in  such  singing,  well  may  force 
A  stronger  Voice  then  mine,  &  make  it  hoarse.) 


I  took  some  time  to  breath,  but  strait 
Curs'd  LAZINES  which  lay  in  wait, 
Did  heap 
Its  sleep 
Upon  my  Heart,  &  I  grew  well  content 
With  Ease,  ev'n  in  the  midst  of  active  Lent. 


Lent,  &  ye  Spring,  &  my  great  Need 
Of  being  Buisie  could  not  breed 
Desires 
Brisk  fires, 
No,  nor  ye  Spark  of  any  Thought  wch  might 
Me  in  ye  ways  of  good  Imployment  light  : 


Till  rows'd  by  this  important  Day 
I  started  up,  &  wip'd  away 
280 


Natalitium  281 

The  Mist 

Which  prest 
Upon  mine  Eys ;  &  now  I  am  awake : 
But  whoe  will  say  so  else  that  hears  me  speak ! 


Can  any  Charitie  beleve 
That  I  a  fiction  doe  not  weave, 
When  I  shall  talk 
How  I  have  heer 
In  this  Lifes  Walk 
Gone  Thirtie  Year 
And  yet  can  nothing  shew  wherby 
This  Course  of  mine  it  self  may  justifie, 
Unless  I  use  the  trick  of  Travellers,  to  Lie  ? 


He  whoe  would  paint  my  Life  aright 
Has  nothing  but  a  Blank  to  write ; 
Pure  Vanitie 
Its  Arms  doth  reach 
About  all  my 
Fond  Life  ;  where  such 
A  plenitude  of  Emptines 
In  all  its  annuall  Circles  bubling  is 
That  thirtie  Cyphers  may  my  Thirtie  years  express. 


The  more  my  Shame,  You'l  say :  &  so 
All  blushing  guilty  I  say  too. 
I  shall  be  yet 
More  vain,  yf  I 
Did  not  admit 
That  Vanitie 
Which  everie  Ey  that  reads  but  Me 
Doth  in  that  prospect  so  compleatly  see, 
That  'tis  too  late  to  crave  Help  of  Hypocrisie  ! 


282     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 


Tis  true,  our  Nations  sinfull  Score 
From  patient  Heavn  hath  Vengance  bore 
Love,  Peace,  &  Law, 
Obedience,  Right, 
And  Safetie,  now 
Have  taken  flight, 
E'r  since  our  woefull  Isle  began 
Within  it  self  to  raise  an  Ocean, 
And  Tides  of  Blood  about  the  desperate  Country  ran. 

5 

'Tis  true,  my  Self  have  felt  some  share 
Of  headlong  &  injurious  Warr  : 
But  had  my  Hart 
Been  brave  &  right, 
Surely  my  Part 
Had  not  been  sleight ; 
But  with  those  faithfull  Hero's  whoe 
Impatient  gallantrie  bid  battell  to 
All  Persecution,  I  had  had  the  grace  to  goe. 


They,  noble  Soules,  long  time  before 
Layd  up  substantiall  Virtue's  store, 
But  heedless  I 
Had  not  the  Witt 
Of  Gallantrie 
That  Stock  to  gett : 
Fond  Drone,  I  playd  &  wantonized 
Untill  my  sunshine  Summer  was  surprized 
With  Winter,  which  all  Heavn  with  clowds  &  storms  disguized. 


7 

And  now,  alas,  what  can  I  doe 
But  sitt,  &  think,  &  sing  my  Woe 


Natalitium  283 


I  might  have  been 
All  pure  &  white, 
As  was  this  clean 
Leaf  where  I  write, 
But  now  am  farr  more  spotted,  then 
Is  this  unhappie  virgin  Papyr  when 
Deflour'd  &  stained  thus,  by  my  adulterate  Pen. 

8 

Yet  I  can  sigh,  &  wish  for  Tears 
To  wash  my  Thirtie  blotted  years. 
And  whoe  can  say 
But  languishment 
And  longing  may 
Make  Heavn  relent ! 
Whoe  knows  but  Jesus  will  supplie 
What  wants  both  in  my  hardned  Hart,  &  Ey 
Out  of  his  own  deep  Wounds,  the  Springs  wch  ne'r  are  drie  ? 


This  is  my  Hope :  else  would  I  not 
To  Live,  on  any  terms  be  got. 
Life  is  a  thing 
Which  doth  belie 
Its  Name,  &  cling 
With  flatterie 
About  the  Hart  it  means  to  slay, 
Yf  JESUS  helpeth  not  to  purge  away 
The  Poison  wch  amidst  its  smiling  Looks  does  play. 


O  onely  LORD  OF  LIFE  &  LOVE, 
Those  pretious  Names  upon  Me  prove ! 
I  am  thy  DUST 
And  ASHES,  and 
My  onely  trust 
On  Thee  doth  stand  : 
Since  Thou  art  pleased  to  repreive 


284     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

Me  still,  oh  crown  the  Favour  Thou  dost  give, 
And  to  thy  Mercie's  Praise  &  Honor  let  Me  live. 


n 

I  care  not  what  becomes  of  Me 
In  this  our  Warrs  Calamitie : 
I  care  not  though 
All  Mischeifs  bend 
At  Me  their  Bowe, 
And  everie  Friend 
Turns  Stranger  unto  my  Distress, 
So  long  as  I  Thy  favour  may  possess, 
And  duelie  answer  it  with  bounden  Loyallness. 

12 

I  feel  Rebellious  Seeds  would  fain 
Amidst  my  Hart  spring  up  again, 
And  taint  this  year 
As  they  have  done 
All  these  which  are 
Allready  runn. 
Help,  help,  sweet  JESU  ;  rather  I 
In  any  deadly  Agonie  would  frie ; 
Then,  whilst  in  ease  I  live,  of  these  soft  Poisons  die. 


Anniversarium   Baptism! 

Martj.  21. 

WOE  is  me,  but  even  now 
Proud  &  fond  I  studied  how 
To  erect  some  gallant  Vow 
On  this  pretious  Mornings  Brow, 
Whoe  to  Heavn  allready  ow 
Whatsoe'r  I  can  bestow. 


From  a  Childe  ingaged  I 
Stand  in  all  Obligements  by 
Baptisme's  sacred  Bonds,  which  tie 
Me  so  strait,  that  should  I  die 
For  my  LORD,  I  still  must  crie 
Spare  thy  Debtors  Povertie. 

3 

But  how  often  have  I  broke 
That  which  then  I  undertook 
And  my  Masters  Wrath  awoke  ! 
Well  may  my  Demerits  look 
For  his  Judgements  heavy  stroke 
Whome  so  highly  they  provoke. 
285 


286     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 


Clean  He  washd  Me  then,  &  white, 
And  with  Graces  Me  bedight ; 
Which  his  Favour  to  requite, 
I  free  promise  made  to  fight 
(Helpd  by  his  inspiring  Might,) 
With  all  Those  whoe  Him  despight. 

5 

Yet  I  foulie  falsifie'd 
All  my  Vows,  &  madly  trie'd 
How  to  serve  the  Hostile  Side  : 
In  which  Service  had  I  die'd, 
What  had  my  rebellious  Pride 
Gaind,  but  endless  Torments  Tide  ? 


Would  destroying  Satan  save  Me  ? 
Would  this  fadeing  World  releive  Me  ? 
Or  could  rotten  Flesh  repreive  Me  ? 
And  (which  most  of  all  doth  greive  Me) 
Could  my  wronged  Lord  forgive  Me  ? 
Or  his  scorned  Heavn  receive  Me  ? 

7 

O  my  Hart,  what  shall  we  doe ! 
What,  but  with  Confession  to 
Mercies  blessed  footstool  goe  ? 
Mercie,  is  our  Master,  whoe 
Allways  pittieth  the  Woe 
Of  his  meek  repentant  Foe. 


S 


Lend,  sweet  JESU,  lend  thine  ear, 
Loe  my  Hart,  &  I,  am  heer, 
No  ambitious  Vow  to  rear  j 


Anniversarium  Baptismi         287 


But  in  guiltie  woefull  fear, 
To  beseech  Thee  Us  to  spare 
Whoe  our  old  ones  down  did  bear. 


9 

Down  We  bore  them  all  as  We 
Able  were ;  yet  still  they  be 
Fixed  sure  above  with  Thee, 
Nor  could  all  our  Treacherie 
Break  those  Bonds  &  sett  Us  free 
From  our  bounden  Loyaltie. 

10 

Help  Us  then  again  to  take 
Up  the  Yoak  We  strove  to  break. 
Light  it  is ;  Yet  thy  dear  Sake 
It  by  farr  will  lighter  make. 
Help  Us,  Lord,  &  from  our  Back 
Let  no  force  this  Burden  shake. 


11 

O  these  Worldly  Vanities 

Whose  heap'd  Froth  upon  Us  lies, 

Cheat  our  shoulders  in  that  guise, 

And  prove  heavie  Miseries  : 

Yf  thy  Cross  their  place  supplies, 

Sooner  We  to  Heavn  shall  rise. 


D 


A  Friend 


EAR  Name,  &  dearer  Thing  !  to  Thee 
How  dull  &  coarse  all  Jewells  be  ! 
Though  I  to  them  can  love  maintain, 
Yet  they  can  not  love  Me  again ; 

Cold  stones  are  sparkling,  They, 
But  Thou  of  fire  of  Life  dost  make  thy  Ray. 


The  kindest  Gemm  wch  me  can  grace 
Must  be  beholden  for  a  place 
Upon  my  open  Ring  or  Breast, 
As  being  nothing  yf  supprest : 

But  through  &  through  my  Hart 
Thy  hidden  Riches  Thou  canst  cleerly  dart. 


To  sett  Thee  off  there  dost  Thou  finde 
A  Foil,  alas,  more  black  &  blinde 
Then  any  Night  which  ever  yet 
On  back  of  pretious  Stone  was  sett ; 

And  though  Thou  needst  it  not, 
Art  riveted  into  an  hideous  Blott. 


All  other  Blotts  farr  purer  are 
Then  Snow,  yf  they  with  sinn  compare 
288 


A   Friend  289 


But  Thou  art  Neer  as  deerest  Heavn 
By  which  Thou  unto  Earth  art  given. 
Thus  other  Gemms  confess 
By  their  sweet  Light,  that  Phebus  them  did  dress. 


O  could  our  greedy  World  but  read 
The  value  of  a  Friend  indeed ; 
No  India's  should  be  raked  more, 
No  Deeps  imbowelled  of  their  Store  : 
All  Voyages  should  be 
Made  to  no  other  Port  but  Amitie : 


The  onely  Port  where  We  can  finde 
Safe  harbour  from  that  furious  Winde 
Of  treacherous  Fortune  ;  She  whoe  ranges 
About  ye  World  with  Storms  of  Changes, 
And  with  her  sudden  shocks 
Dashes  Prosperitie  upon  Sorrows  Rocks. 


Why  dost  Thou  goe  ye  way  about 
Vain  Man,  to  finde  some  Treasure  out  ? 
Tis  not  at  Cittie,  nor  at  Court, 
At  neighbour  or  at  forrein  Port, 

Where  Thou  canst  surely  finde 
Thy  Hopes,  though  long  &  strong,  crownd  to  thy  minde. 

8 

O  take  ye  nearest  Cutt ;  goe  trade 
To  gain  a  Friend,  &  thou  hast  made 
A  better  merket  farr  then  they 
Whoe  make  returns  of  glittering  Clay, 
Which  ever  was  &  must 
Be  subject  unto  Envie,  Theivs,  &  Rust. 


290     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

9 

Hast  Thou  a  Friend  ?  oh  hold  him  fast 
As  thine  own  Soule,  &  know  thou  hast 
A  Prize,  which,  as  most  Kings  desire, 
Few  are  so  blest  as  to  acquire. 

Greatnes  may  Flatterers  gain, 
But  Friends  scorn  to  be  drawn  by  such  a  Chain. 


10 

Hast  thou  a  Friend  ?  whate'r  thou  hast, 
Thou  hast  compleatly  double  :  cast 
Up  thy  account  no  more  for  One, 
Thy  scant  Identitie  is  gone : 

Thou  art  thy  Friend,  &  He 
By  mutuall  Faith  transanimates  with  Thee. 


11 

That  life  he  leads  in  Thee,  to  Him 
More  pretious  then  his  own  doth  seem ; 
His  own  he  freely  will  resigne 
So  he  may  still  be  sure  of  thine ; 

Death  onely  makes  him  live 
When  he,  by  dying,  Life  to  Thee  doth  give. 


12 

Joys  loose  to  Him  their  Name  &  Taste 
But  when  with  Him  thy  share  Thou  hast 
Whenever  Thou  receiv'st  a  Wound, 
He  feels  as  deep  ye  strokes  rebound, 
And  claimeth  as  his  right 
The  moietie  of  thy  disastrous  plight. 


13 

Though  all  ye  World  upon  Thee  frown, 
He  counts  Thee  still  no  less  his  own : 


A   Friend  291 


Tis  not  thy  Fortune,  though  as  high 
As  is  a  Crowns  brave  Majestie, 
But  'tis  thy  self  alone 
Which  knitts  him  to  thee  in  Loves  Union. 

14 

Of  Virtu's  genuine  Faithfullnes 
True  Loves  pure  Cement  tempered  is ; 
A  Cement  that  disdains  to  feel 
Times  teeth,  which  triumph  over  Steel, 
Or  suffer  any  Harme 
From  angrie  Fortune's  most  outrageous  Storm. 

*5 

Parentall  Kindenes  cold  may  grow 
And  Filial  Dutie  cease  to  glow  j 
Ev'n  Matrimoniall  Fervour  may 
Be  chill  &  faint  &  die  away ; 

But  Friendship's  resolute  Heat 
In  Loyaltie's  eternall  Pulse  doth  beat. 

16 

Tell  all  things  else  by  thy  slight  Eye 
Thou  scornst  their  glozing  Treacherie ; 
But,  next  to  thy  Devotions,  spend 
Thy  holyest  Powers  upon  thy  Friend  : 
None  but  thy  God,  &  He 
Inseparably  linked  are  to  Thee. 


Temp  or  a  11  Success 

FOULE  beauteous  Witch,  whose  painted  face 
Inchanteth  everie  place, 
How  many  more  Admirers  wait  on  Thee 
Then  upon  Virtu's  brave  integritie ! 


Let  adverse  Fortunes  but  conspire 
And  their  shortwinded  ire 
Blow  upon  noble  Job,  ye  world  will  swear 
The  Man's  condemned,  &  Gods  breath  blew  there. 


With  Swains  whoe  nothing  higher  know 
Then  the  dull  ground  they  plow, 
Ev'n  Eliphaz,  Bildad,  Zophar,  men  of  high 
And  famous  learning,  own  this  Foolerie. 


4 

Befooled  &  inchanted,  They 
Conclude  Job's  Virtu's  lay 
In's  Children,  Servants,  Cattell ;  Thus,  alas, 
Uncertain  Goods  for  certain  Goodnes  pass. 
292 


Temporall  Success  293 

5 

The  sage  substantiall  Jews  were  all 
Caught  in  this  sottish  Thrall, 
And  those  that  sate  in  Moses's  reverend  Chair 
Amidst  their  Gravitie  thus  Childish  were. 


Yf  they  great  JESUS  nayled  see 
To  his  tormenting  Tree, 
His  Case  proclaims  his  equall  guilt,  say  They, 
And  strait  they  vote  Him  a  meer  Castaway. 


Was  flourishing  Dives  then  (although 
His  whole  estate  be  now 
Not  worth  one  Drop  of  Water,)  so  sublime 
A  Saint,  bycause  in  Fullnes  He  did  swimm  ? 

8 

And  was  poor  Lazarus  a  Wight 
Plung'd  in  a  cursed  plight, 
Bycause  in's  Flesh  as  rotten  as  in's  Raggs, 
And  dressed  by  no  Surgeons  but  the  Doggs  ? 


Then,  Holy  Mahomet,  say  I, 
Blest  in  thy  Heresie : 
Then  the  Odrysian  Moons  right  heavnly  Homes 
The  conquerd  Crosses  Arms  most  justly  scorns. 

10 

Then  at  the  Alcorans  brave  feet 

Our  noble  Gospell  must  submit ; 
Then  are  the  Turks  Heavns  Darlings,  &  the  Grand 
Seignor  henceforth  for  Prince  of  Saints  must  stand. 


294     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 


1 1 


Then  is  ye  noble  Gold  a  poor 
And  contemtible  Ore, 
Bycause  it  must  be  tri'd  &  torturd  by 
The  Fornace's  incensed  Tyrannic 


12 


But  lazie  Lead,  or  glaring  Brass, 
Bycause  they  never  pass 
The  trying  Rules  of  such  Severitie, 
For  best  of  Metalls  must  admitted  be. 


*3 

Then  ye  fair  Roses  blushing  Hue 
Unto  it  self  is  due 
Being  a  wretched  shamefull  Shrub,  bycause 
The  persecuting  horn  her  Body  claws. 

But  Heavn  &  Shame  forbid,  that  They 
By  such  false  weights  should  weigh 
Whose  Master  unto  generous  Virtue  chains 
Ten  thousand  Persecutions  &  Pains. 


15 

Those  temporall  Blessings  He  can  well 
Betemm  on  Sonns  of  Hell ; 
Blessings  which  never  bless,  but  when  they  be 
Tam'd  &  in  order  kept  by  Pietie. 

16 

But  He  with  Diet  course  &  spare 
His  Champions  doth  prepare, 
That  sound  &  hardie  grown,  they  stoutlier  may 
His  battels  fight,  &  surer  win  the  day. 


Temporall  Success  295 


17 

That  Day,  whose  Morning  is  not  drest 
In  our  Aurora's  east, 
But  then  shall  spring,  &  shine  forever,  when 
Phebus  shall  Fall  no  more  to  Rise  agen. 

18 

Then,  whatsoever  Blessings  were 
Bated  to  Virtue  heer, 
JESUS  shall  with  immortall  Use  repay ; 
Nor  will  his  Saints  think  much  till  then  to  stay. 


( H    Ay&Tryj   ov   tyre?  ra   eavTyg 


T 


i  Cor.  13.  5. 

IS  Yee,  black  Avarice,  &  Hate, 
Whose  fell  conjunction  begat 
Those  costly  Barrs 
And  wrangling  Warrs 
Which  shed  the  hartblood  of  ten  thousand  Purses 
Draind  into  Lawyers  Chests  with  full  as  many  Curses. 


Tis  thou,  incroaching  Pride,  whoe  first 
Into  thy  Neighbours  Bounds  did  burst ; 
Thou,  who  dost  by 
Extremitie 
Of  Sin,  excuse  its  Guilt,  &  paint  ye  stories 
Of  thy  vast  Murders  with  victorious  Valours  glories. 


Love  never  any  Soldiers  prest 
Anothers  Right  away  to  wrest ; 
And  though  it  knows 
What  Shafts  &  Bows 
And  Battells  mean,  all  its  Artillerie 
Weapons  of  Sweetnes  &  Delicacie  be. 

296 


"  Charity  seeketh  not  her  own"   297 


Love  never  went  to  Law,  nor  knew 
What  kinde  of  Trade  it  was  to  sue  \ 
Love  never  feed 
A  Toung  to  plead, 
Nor  hir'd  ye  Judges  Conscience,  so  to  make 
Justice  hirself  upon  hir  throne  unjustly  speak. 

5 

O  no ;  Love  nothing  thinks  so  farr 
Its  own,  as  either  by  the  Warr 
Of  Sword  or  Toung 
To  right  its  wrong : 
And  how  much  less  will  it  a  fight  maintain 
To  ravish  Goods,  &  others  Propertie  to  gain  ? 


Snatch  but  Loves  Cloke,  &  that  will  be 
A  Pledge  of  further  prey  to  thee ; 
For  Love  will  not 
Denie  its  Coat, 
Being  ashamed  more  to  force  Thee  to 
Restore  its  clothes,  then  naked  up  and  down  to  goe. 

7 

No  Action  of  Batterie  fear 
Though  Loves  right  Cheek  you  beat  or  tear ; 
No ;  Love  doth  offer 
Its  left  to  suffer, 
And  by  the  glorie  of  like  patience  be 
Sister  unto  the  Right,  in  milde  humilitie. 


Humane  Revenge 


WHERE  doth  that  Beutie  &  that  Sweetnes  lie 
Whereby 
Thou  charmest  generous  Spirits,  whoe 
With  might  &  main  thy  busines  do ; 
Thy  monstrous  buisnes,  which 
All  other  Witcheries  doth  farr  outwitch. 


Art  Thou  not  stuffd  with  Bitterness  and  Gall  ? 

Is  all 
Thy  Trade  not  full  of  gnawing  Passions, 
Of  Discontents,  &  self-vexations  ? 
Doth  not  the  boiling  heat 
Of  thy  fell  Bosome,  make  thy  self  its  meat  ? 


O  costly  sin ;  what  thanks  to  Heavn  We  ow, 

That  Thou 
Inevitablie  art  accurst 
Thy  self  to  feel  thy  furie  first ! 

Thus,  in  hir  bringing  forth, 
The  Vigor's  punishd  for  that  hellish  birth. 

4 

What  Riddle's  this,  That  Man  should  pleased  be 

To  see 
298 


Humane  Revenge  299 

What  Tempests  He  can  raise,  &  what 
Harme  He  to  others  can  create ! 

That  He  his  Gains  should  cast 
Up  by  no  Rule,  but  what  his  Neighbor  lost ! 


5 

The  worst  of  Tigres  never  on  his  Prey 

Did  lay 
His  irefull  Teeth  &  Paws,  that  He 
Might  onely  read  his  Butcherie : 

'Twas  Hunger  wrought  the  feat, 
And  He  did  onelie  Tear,  that  He  might  Eat. 


But  Thou,  foule  Hagg,  canst  doe  no  more  then  slay, 

Thy  Prey : 
Thy  Barbarisme  can  for  its  End 
Nothing  but  Barbarisme  intend  : 
For  simple  Mischeifs  sake 
Thou  allways  thy  mischeivous  Pains  dost  take. 


But  stay  thine  hand,  revengefull  Gallant,  stay, 

And  say 
Whither  thy  Scores  with  God  be  clear ; 
For  yf  th'  ast  any  Recknings  there, 
Learn  to  be  kinde  below, 
And  unto  Heavn  that  gentle  Copie  show. 

8 

Doe  not  by  thy  seveer  Example  force 

The  Course 
Of  heavnly  Furie  :  doe  not  stop 
The  golden  gate  of  Mercie  up. 
O  doe  not  Thou  deny 
Forgivenes,  whoe  without  it  needs  must  dy. 


300     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

9 

Trust  God  to  vindicate  thy  Injurie, 

Since  He 
Monopolizeth  Vengance,  and 
Ties  it  to  His  almighty  Hand. 

Or  yf  thy  Case  Thou  durst 
Not  trust  with  Him,  thy  self  how  canst  thou  trust  ? 


Suspirium   ad  Amorem 

(For  a  Base  &  a  Treble.) 


OLOVE 
Come  prove 
Thy  Dart 
On  Me; 
And  deigne 
To  gaine 
My  Hart 
To  Thee ! 
Thy  Dart 

Can  part 

A  Breast 

Of  Stone ; 
O  why 
Must  my 
Resist 
Alone  ? 
The  Flint 

That's  in't 
Will  rive 

When  Thou 
Vouchafst 
A  Shaft 
To  give 
The  Blow. 

301 


302     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 


'Twill  rive 
And  live 

And  show 

Some  spark 
To  light 
My  Night 
Whoe  now 
Am  dark. 
Then  I 

Shall  spy 

The  door 

And  Way 
To  Thee, 
And  be 
No  more 
Astray. 


The  Sheepherd 

(Sett  to  5 pts  for  voices  &  violls  .  by  .  R.  C.) 


w 


HEN  great  Love 
Did  remove 
From  above 
Heer  to  prove 
His  delicious  Art ; 
He  took 
A  Crook 
And  in's  look 
Was  as  plain 
A  Swain 
In  grain, 
And  did  play  his  part 
With  as  harmlesse  genuine  Grace 

As  Sheepherd  e'r  did  trace 
Sichems  feilds  all  flowrie  face. 


In  a  Meed 
Where  no  Weed 
E'r  did  breed, 
He  did  feed 
His  unspotted  sheep : 
No  meat 
So  sweet 


303 


304     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 


E'r  did  greet 
Lips  which  kisst 
The  Nest 
Of  best 
Dainties  which  did  sleep 
On  the  bedds  of  Paradise 

So  rich  in  sprightfull  spice 
And  inlivening  Rareties. 


For  the  Fare 
His  sweet  Care 
Did  prepare, 
Was  his  dear 
And  allpretious  Flesh, 
Which  He 
Made  free 
Equalitie 
To  each  guest 
And  drest 
The  Feast 
In  a  mystik  Dish  : 
Thus  his  sheep  to  entertain, 

And  their  poor  love  to  gain, 
He  himself  Heavns  Lamb  is  slain. 


He  is  slain 
And  doth  strain 
Might  &  main 
Everie  vein 
To  yeild  up  each  drop ; 

Which  flood 

Of  Blood 
Might  make  good 
Heavn  &  Bliss 

To  dress 

Up  his 
Lambs  abundant  Cup : 


The  Sheepherd  305 


All  about  whose  noble  Brimm 

Pure  liquid  Life  doth  swimm 
Sweetly  to  eternize  Them. 


Then  to  keep 
These  his  sheep 
Safe  asleep 
From  the  deep 
Rage  of  Wolfe  &  Bear, 
Each  Hand 
Doth  stand 
Open,  and 
Feet  &  Side 
Gape  wide 
To  hide 
All  whoe  nestle  there  : 
These  five  rubie  folds  alone 

Give  safe  protection 
To  the  Flocks  that  thither  run. 


Hopt 


Y 


'ET  still  bear  up :  No  Bark  did  e'r 
By  stooping  to  the  storm  of  fear 
Scape  that  Tempests  Wrath  which  rent 
Two  into  one  Element ; 
Whilst  in  one 
Confusion 
The  groaning  Air,  &  weeping  Water  run. 


Bear  up :  &  those  proud  Waves  wch  dash  thee, 
Shall  but  onely  fairer  wash  thee. 
Bear  up ;  &  Thou  at  length  shall  fynd 
All  these  Blusterings  are  but  Winde. 

Trust  Hope,  &  be 

Assur'd  that  She 
Will  fynd  thee  out  an  hav'n  amidst  the  Sea. 

3 

Suspect  not  any  stoney  Shelf; 
No  Rock  can  splitt  Thee,  but  thy  Self. 
Hope  casts  hir  Anchor  upward,  where 
No  Storm  durst  ever  domineer. 
Her  Hand  kinde  Shee 
Holds  out  to  Thee, 
To  bid  thee  Wellcome  to  Securitie. 
306 


Hope 


307 


4 

O  then  take  her  abord,  although 
All  other  Wares  Thou  out  dost  throw ; 
Thy  Bark  will  onely  lighter  be 
By  Hopes  cheerly  Companie ; 

Though  She  doth  farr 

Outweigh  whate'r 
To  stopp  the  Waves  wide  Mouth's  thou  threw'st  in  there. 


Hope's  Ey  is  fix'd  upon  a  Starr 
Above  the  Polar  fire  as  farr 
As  Thou  art  sunk  into  Dismay : 
And  She  can  thither  steer  thy  Way, 

Whoe  nobly  by 

Her  mystik  Ey 
Is  what  She  seeth,  &  in  Heavn  doth  ly. 


Hope,  though  slow  she  be,  &  late, 
Yet  outrunns  swift  Time  &  Fate ; 
And  aforehand  loves  to  be 
With  most  remote  Futuritie. 

Hope  though  She  dies 

Immortal  is 
And  in  fruitions  fruit  doth  fairer  rise. 


Hope,  is  Comfort  in  Distress  : 
Hope,  is  in  Misfortune  Bliss : 
Hope,  in  Sorrow  is  Delight : 
Hope,  is  Day  in  darkest  Night. 
Nor  wonder  at 
This  ridling  Knot, 
For  Hope,  is  every  Thing  which  She  is  not. 


o 


Idleness 


TEDIOUS  Idleness 
How  irksome  is 
Thy  foolish  Nothing  !     When  all  day 
I  strugled  through  the  craggiedst  Way 
Of  knottiest  Learning  to  gett  up 
To  the  fair  top 
Of  some  deer  Knowledge,  I  did  never  fynd 
My  Body  half  so  tir'd,  so  damp'd  my  Mynd. 


So  tir'd,  &  damp'd  as  now : 
For  monstrous  Thou 
Thwart'st  ev'n  my  Essence,  &  dost  choke 
My  sprightfull  Flame  in  drowsy  smoke. 
Surely  a  Soule  which  dwells  among 
A  quick  &  strong 
Consort  of  Organs,  ne'r  was  seated  there 
To  lend  to  Sloths  dull  Pipe  her  active  Ear. 

3 

Were  I  to  Curse  my  Foe, 
I'd  damne  Him  to 
No  Hell  but  Thee ;  in  whose  blinde  grott 
He,  though  in  health,  might  lie  &  rott, 
And  prove  Deaths  wretched  Sacrifice 
Before  he  dies ; 
308 


Idleness  309 


Whilst  He  himself  doth  to  Himself  become 
Both  ye  dead  Carcase,  &  the  living  Tombe. 

4 

May  some  Work  ever  keep 

Mine  Eyes  from  Sleep 
Whilst  they  are  wakeing !  though  it  be 
But  some  poor  Song  to  throw  at  Thee 
Mischeivous  Sloth.     Alas,  I  grutch 
That  I  so  much 
Of  this  my  little  Time  expend,  whilst  I 
All  night  seald  up  in  lazie  Slumbres  lie. 

5 

The  longest  Summer  Day 
Strait  posts  away. 
An  honestly  imployed  Mynd 
Doth  shriveld-up  December  fynd 
In  wide-spred  June ;  &  thinks  black  Night 
Crowds  out  fair  Light 
As  soon  when  Sol  through  lofty  Cancer  rides, 
As  when  down  to  the  Fishes  depth  he  slides. 


The   Complaint 


MIGHTY  Love,  oh  how  dost  Thou 
By  not  fighting,  overthrow ; 
Come,  whilst  Thou  away  art  flying ; 
Grant  Petitions,  by  Denying ; 
Burn  Us,  whilst  Thou  letst  Us  freize 
In  our  dull  Aridities ; 
Wound,  yet  never  shoot  a  dart 
At  the  wounded  bleeding  Hart ! 

For  thy  Wound  I  reigning  finde 
In  my  sauciated  Minde, 
Which  is  pierced  deep  by  Thee 
'Cause  Thou  hast  not  pierced  Me. 
'Cause  my  stony  Hart  I  feel 
By  thy  Powers  unwounded  still. 
Woe  is  me  whoe  thus  must  by 
Want  of  Wounds,  allwounded  dy  ! 

Dy  I  must,  yf  thus  I  live ; 
Life  to  Me  no  Life  can  give ; 
Wounds  &  Death  bought  Life  for  Me, 
Wounds  &  Death  my  life  must  be  : 
Wounds  of  present  Love ;  not  such 
As  pierce  deep,  but  never  touch 
Death  which  liveth  in  Loves  Darts, 
Into  Life  to  murder  Harts ; 
Wounds,  &  Death,  which  never  from 
Absence's  cold  spring  did  come. 

Gentle  Love,  oh  neerer  still, 
Neerer  yet,  that  I  may  feel 
310 


The  Complaint  311 


What  thou  art,  by  feeling  Thee ; 
Not  by  Contrarietie, 
Sure  ten  thousand  Worlds  could  not 
Hire  me  from  thy  love  :  yet  what 
Is  this  Glowing,  but  Desire  ? 
Which  falls  short  of  generous  Fire  : 
Thy  dear  Fire,  which  might  to  Thee 
Make  an  Holocaust  of  Me  I 


The  Wound 


DEAR  Love,  thou  needst  not  send  a  Dart 
To  finde  the  bottome  of  my  Hart : 
Tis  found  allready  by  that  Spear 
Whose  barbarous  Point  thine  own  did  tear. 
It  tore  ope  thine ; 
And  therefore  mine, 
In  which  Thou,  since  Thou  mad'st  &  bought'st  it,  by 
That  double  Title  hast  more  right  then  I. 


To  thy  Hearts  woefull  Outcry,  my 
Wounds  gapeing  Mouth  makes  its  reply : 
Thy  Clamor  streameth  in  a  flood 
Of  rueful  Water  &  of  Blood  j 

And  much  like  this 
My  answer  is ; 
For  through  mine  Eys  the  dutefull  Waters  gush, 
The  burning  Blood  flows  in  my  guilty  Blush. 

3 

My  guilty  Blush ;  for  I  am  He 
Who  helpd  to  thrust  that  Spear  at  Thee  : 
I  helpd  to  thrust  it,  &  the  Blow 
Upon  my  Self  reboundeth  now. 
Yet  must  I  joy 
In  this  Annoy ; 
For  though  thy  Death  be  proved  by  that  Wound, 
Thy  Life  is  ratified  by  the  Rebound. 

312 


The   Cheat 


SWEET  Beguilings, 
Cruel  Smileings, 
Tickling  Soules  to  death ; 
Tedious  Leisures, 
Bitter  Pleasures, 
Smooth  yet  cragged  Path  ; 


Heavy  lightnes, 
Whose  sad  Sleightnes 

Cheers,  yet  breaks  the  Bearer  j 
Dainty  Treasons 
Whose  quaint  Reasons 

Teach  yet  fool  the  Hearer : 


Glorious  Troubles, 
Mighty  Bubbles, 

Horror  fairly  brimmed, 
Bane  in  Honey, 
Brass  in  Money, 

Nothing  neatly  timmed  : 

3i3 


314     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 


Are  the  Prizes 

Life  devizes 
To  warm  fond  Desires ; 

Which  by  growing 

Hot,  are  blowing 
Their  own  funeral  Fires. 


The  Combat 


LOVE,  though  thou  great  &  dreadfull  art, 
With  Boldnes  Thou  hast  fir'd  my  Hart, 
Which  trembles  not  to  aim  at  Thee 
Ev'n  with  that  Dart  Thou  shott'st  at  Me  : 
Twas  Love  Thou  shott'st ;  &  that  art  Thou  j 
And  at  thy  Self  thy  Self  I  throw. 
I  throw  thy  Self;  but  loe  my  Hart 
Still  sticking  is  upon  thy  Dart. 


2.  PART 

And  dost  Thou  shoot,  dear  LORD,  again 
At  him  whome  Thou  before  hadst  slain  ? 
This  Deaths  Life  kills  me  so,  that  I 
Must  shoot  again,  or  else  I  dy. 
I  dy,  unless  I  live  to  see 
This  Hart  &  Life  quite  lost  in  Thee. 
Fair  is  my  Aim,  &  high  my  Trust ; 
Thy  Side's  wide  ope,  &  shoot  I  must. 
Lo :  Bid  it  welcome  unto  Thine, 
Else  can  my  Hart  no  more  be  mine. 


3i5 


The  Pretence 


V 


AIN  Hart,  why  wouldst  Thou  try 
The  Bag  of  every  Bee  that  buzzeth  by  ? 
With  any  didst  Thou  ever  meet 
Amidst  whose  Honey  was  not  sett 
A  Sting  to  warn  thine  Hand 
The  Danger  of  Delight  to  understand  ? 


Nay,  leave  thy  Preaching  :  I 
Beleve  that  Pleasure  Lawfull  is,  which  thy 

Fond  Tooth,  desires  to  taste.     But  since 
The  Lawfulnes  is  thy  Pretence, 

Come,  I  will  let  Thee  loose 
To  Lawful  things,  where  Thou  mayst  noblier  choose. 


First,  know,  tis  Lawful  to 
Abstein  from  that  Thou  pantest  after  so. 

'Tis  Lawful  quite  to  quench  the  fire 
Of  any  secular  Desire  : 

Tis  Lawful  to  refuse 
What  Law  itself  alloweth  Thee  to  use. 

4 

'Tis  Lawful  to  deny 
Whate'r  doth  feuel  to  thy  Flame  supply. 

3i6 


The  Pretence  317 


Tis  Lawful  to  maintain  a  Warr 
Against  thy  Self,  &  not  to  spare 
That  Body,  which  unless 
Thou  mortifie'st  it,  will  thy  Life  suppress. 


To  Weep,  to  Fast,  to  Pray ; 
To  walk  the  hardy  &  heroik  Way 

Of  Saints  &  Martyrs,  whoe  in  fear 
Of  nothing  more  then  Pleasures  were  ; 
To  bowe  thy  venturous  back 
And  any  Cross  on  thy  brave  Shoulders  take ; 


By  his  deer  Blood  to  trace 
The  gallant  Footstepps  of  thy  Lord ;  to  Place 
Thy  Self  above  thy  Self,  &  live 
In  Lifes  own  Fount,  whil'st  Thou  dost  give 
All  thy  Desires  to  His 
Incomparable  Will  in  Sacrifice. 


All  these  are  Lawful ;  and 
Much  more  then  so. — Why  dost  Thou  trembling  stand  ? 
That  Tremor  shakes  off  from  thy  face 
The  Mask  in  which  it  sheltred  was  ; 
And  makes  Thee  now  confess 
Thou  fearest  thine  own  Weapon,  LA  WFULNES. 


The  Pilgrim 


T 


'HANKS,  still  encreasing  Turmoils  j  I 

Mistook  you  heertofore  : 

But  now  I  learn  no  more 

To  chide  with  that  Uncertainty 

Which  hunts  Me  out  in  every  Place,  &  tosses 

My  settling  Hopes  through  new  disturbances  &  crosses. 


I  am  content  Life  should  with  me 
Not  play  the  Hypocrite 
By  Baits  of  vain  Delight 
And  treacherous  Stabilitie. 
Since  all  the  Heavns  are  restless,  why  should  I 
Desire  with  sordid  Earth,  in  Quiet  heer  to  ly  ? 

3 

Had  I  a  fixed  Home  below, 

That  stiff  Temptation  might 
My  foolish  Hart  invite 
To  hanker  heer,  &  study  how 
To  plant  my  Self  right  deep  &  sure ;  whoe  must 
Whither  I  will  or  no,  alas,  fall  into  Dust. 

4 

What  though  my  Books  &  I  be  parted  ? 
I  know  all  Freinds  at  last 
The  parting  Cup  must  taste. 
3i8 


The  Pilgrim  319 


And  now  to  me  the  World's  converted 
Into  one  Library  where  I  may  read 
The  mighty  Leavs  of  Providence  wide  open  spred. 


Terrestrial  Quiet  I  shall  have 
More  then  enough,  when  I 
Sure  &  fast  sealed  ly 
In  my  deep  silent  Grave : 
Why  should  I  plott  &  project  how  to  be 
Aforehand  buried  in  earthly  Securitie  ? 


Why  should  I  wish  to  be  at  home, 

So  long  as  I'm  abroad  ? 

For  what's  Life  but  the  Road 

By  journying  through  which  We  come 

Unto  our  Fathers  house  :  &  happy  We, 

Yf  after  all  this  journe  We  at  home  may  be  ! 


The  Birds  have  Nests,  the  Foxes  holes, 
But  Heavns  great  Sonn  had  neither  : 
And,  tell  me,  hadst  thou  rather 
Live  like  the  Foxes,  &  the  Foules, 
Then  like  thy  God ;  espetialy  when  He 
By's  Providence  to  this  brave  Hardship  lureth  Thee. 

8 

Born  in  a  borrowd  house,  &  in 
A  borrowd  Cave  interred, 
He  first  &  last  preferred 
What  lazie  Flesh  &  Blood  doth  shunn : 
He  might  have  for  his  Palace  heer  had  room, 
But  scorned  any  Place  but  Heavn,  to  own  for  Home. 


320     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 


Blow  then  the  worst  of  Blasts,  &  beat 
My  Bark  about  the  World  ; 
Still  can  I  not  be  hurld 
Beyond  ken  of  my  Hav'n,  nor  meet 
One  Place  more  distant  then  another,  from 
The  heavnly  Port,  to  which  alone  I  pant  to  come. 

10 

I  pant  to  come ;  for  what,  what  am 

I  but  a  Stranger  heer 

As  all  my  Fathers  were  ? 

Nor  would  I  stay  to  learn  &  frame 

My  Toung  or  Manners  to  this  Countries  guise, 

Which  ne'r  will  suit  with  what's  in  fashion  in  the  Skies. 

ii 

But  yf  I  must  be  thrown  into 
Some  seeming  fixed  Seat ; 
So  may  I  dwell  in  it, 
That  it  ne'r  dwells  in  Me  !     O  no ; 
I  rather  heer  would  no  Possessions  have, 
Then  be  Possest  by  what  I  needs  at  length  must  leave. 


BioB&voijToq 


o 


VILE  ingratefull  Me, 

That  I  should  Live,  &  not  in  Thee  ! 
Not  to  thy 
Praise,  from  whome 
All  this  my 
Life  doth  come ! 
What  Riddle's  this,  that  I  should  strive 
Onely  against  my  Life  to  Live ! 


Against  Thee,  gentle  LOVE, 
Life  of  my  Life,  long  have  I  strove, 

Still  misusing 

Thy  sweet  Grace, 

Still  refusing 

To  give  place 
To  mine  own  Bliss,  which  Thou  with  thy 
Milde  Yoke  about  my  neck  wouldst  ty. 

3 

And  thus,  alas  I  have 
All  this  wide  World  but  for  my  grave ; 
Where  the  Stone 
Which  doth  ly 
Heavy  on 
Me  and  my 
Earth-hamperd  Thoughts,  is  onely  this 
Unhappy  Hearts  Obdurateness. 
321 


The   Crie 


SPEAK,  everlasting  WORD,  oh  speak, 
That  I  may  break 
These  Bonds  of  Death,  &  by 
My  Resurrection  make  Reply. 


Thy  potent  Voice  wak'd  that  vast  Deep 
Which  lay  asleep 
In  deadly  Darknes,  and 
Rowz'd  a  World  by  its  stout  Command. 


Thy  Prophet  Thou  didst  summon  from 
His  living  Tombe, 
Where  twice-devoured  He 
Lay  drownd  both  in  the  Whale,  &  Sea. 


What  though  this  Death  wherein  poor  I 
Deep-plunged  ly, 
Be  more  profound  then  all 
The  Sea,  more  monstrous  then  the  Whale  ? 
322 


The  Crie  323 


What  though  the  Worlds  dark  Wombe  was  not 
So  foule  a  Grott 
As  this  in  which  I  grope  ? 
Yet  I  am  still  in  ken  of  Hope. 


The  deepest  Deeps  are  shallow  found 

When  Thou  dost  sound  : 
And  I  shall  Rise,  deer  LORD, 
Yf  Thou  but  soundst  with  thy  sweet  Word. 


Whiteness ',   or  C has  title 

Set  to  4  pts.  by  T.  T. 

TELL  me,  where  doth  Whiteness  grow, 
Not  on  Bedds  of  Scythian  Snow ; 
Nor  on  Alabaster  Hills ; 
Nor  in  Canaans  milkie  Rills  ; 
Nor  the  dainty  living  Land 
Of  a  young  Queen's  Breast  or  Hand ; 
Nor  on  Cygnets  lovely  necks  ; 
Nor  in  Lap  of  Virgin  Wax  ; 
Nor  upon  the  soft  &  sleek 
Pillows  of  the  Lillies  Cheek ; 
Nor  the  pretious  smileing  Heirs 
Of  the  Mornings  Perlie  tears  ; 
Nor  the  silver-shaming  Grace 
Of  the  Moons  unclowded  Face  : 

No  ;  All  these  Candors 
Are  but  the  handsome  Slanders 
Cast  on  the  Name  of  genuine  WHITENES,  which 
Doth  Thee  alone,  fair  CHASTITIE,  inrich. 


324 


A  Morning  Hymn 

WHAT'S  this  Morns  bright  Eye  to  Me, 
Yf  I  see  not  thine,  &  Thee, 
Fairer  JESU  j  in  whose  Face  . 
All  my  Heavn  is  spred  !     Alas 
Still  I  grovel  in  dead  Night, 
Whilst  I  want  thy  living  Light ; 
Still  I  sleep,  although  I  wake, 
And  in  this  vain  Sleep  I  Talk, 
Dreaming  with  wide  open  eyes, 
Fond  fantastik  Vanities. 

Shine,  my  onely  Daystarr,  shine  : 
So  mine  Eyes  shall  wake  by  Thine ; 
So  the  Dreams  I  grope  in  now 
To  clear  Visions  shall  grow ; 
So  my  Day  shall  measured  be 
By  thy  Graces  Claritie  ; 
So  shall  I  discern  the  Path 
Thy  sweet  Law  prescribed  hath ; 
For  thy  Wayes  cannot  be  shown 
By  any  Light,  but  by  thine  own. 


325 


An   Evening  Hymn 

NEVER  yet  could  careless  Sleep 
On  LOVES  watchfull  Eylid  creep ; 
Never  yet  could  gloomy  Night 
Damp  his  Ey's  immortal  Light : 
LOVE  is  his  own  Day,  &  sees 
Whatsoe'r  himself  doth  please. 
LOVE  his  piercing  Look  can  dart 
Through  the  Shades  of  my  dark  Heart, 
And  read  plainer  farr  then  I 
All  the  Spotts  which  there  do  lie. 

Pardon  then  what  Thou  dost  see, 
Mighty  LOVE,  in  wretched  Me. 
Let  the  sweet  Wrath  of  thy  Ray 
Chide  my  sinfull  Night  to  Day ; 
To  the  blessed  Day  of  Grace 
Whose  deer  East  smiles  in  thy  Face. 
So  no  Powers  of  Darknes  shall 
In  this  Night  my  Soule  appall  j 
So  shall  I  the  soundlier  Sleep, 
Cause  my  Heart  awake  I  keep, 
Meekly  waiting  upon  Thee, 
Whilst  Thou  deignst  to  watch  for  Me. 


326 


Hytnnus  ad  Christum^  proxime 
cooptandi  in  S.   Presbyteratus   Ordinem 


SWEET  LOVE,  loe  at  thy  gentle  Feet 
My  trembling  Soule  I  throw  j 
Which  doth  full  sadly  know 
How  great 
The  Sanctitie  of  this  high  Function  is, 
And  how  extreem  my  own  unworthynes. 


Were  my  foule  Spotts  clean  washed  out ; 
Were  I  refin'd,  till  I 
Could  with  pure  Seraphs  vie 
In  stout 
And  genuine  Rays  ;  still  must  my  Heart  complain 
'Twere  too  impure  this  Office  to  sustein. 


This  Office,  which  with  Clay  &  Dust 
Doth  Heavn  it  self,  &  more, 
Thee,  whom  all  Heavns  adore, 
Intrust. 
How,  how  shall  most  polluted  I  endure 
The  mighty  burden  of  a  Charge  so  pure  ! 
327 


328     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

4 

But  though  I  durst  not  shutt  mine  ear 
Against  this  Call,  which  from 
Thy  Self  doth  seem  to  come ; 
Yet  fear 
Of  mine  own  Vilenes,  &  of  glorious  Thee, 
Spurrs  to  this  bold  Request  all-quaking  Me : 

5 

Yf  Thou  foreseest  that  I  shall  not 
Advance  thine  Honor  by 
My  climbing  up  so  high  j 
O  putt 
Some  Barr  between,  yea  though't  be  Death,  that  so 
I  may  not  Rise  to  mine  own  Overthrow. 


Paulo  post  Ordinationem 

SINCE  then  Thou  pleased  art,  deer  Lord, 
To  afford 
To  most  unworthy  ME 
This  sacred  Dignitie  ; 
In  endless  Thanks  to  Thee,  oh  may 
That  Goodnes  force  my  Heart  it  self  to  pay. 


When  to  thy  dreadfull  Altar  I 
Shall  draw  nigh 
To  wait  on  Thee,  &  thence 
Loves  wonders  to  dispense  ; 
Forgive  my  Sinns,  &  teach  me  how 
To  raise  my  thoughts  above  all  things  below. 


When  I  thy  Lambs  to  pasture  lead ; 
Let  me  feed 
Their  pretious  Soules  with  sweet 
And  holy  wholesome  Meat. 
But  cheifly  let  my  Pattern  teach 
Them,  what  my  Toung  shall  else  but  faintly  preach. 

4 

When  I  that  Balm  to  Soules  shall  deal 
Which  to  heal 

329 


33°     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

Meek  wounded  Bosomes,  Thou 
Leftst  with  thy  Church  below ; 
O  guide  my  Hand  with  holy  Skill, 
Least  rash  in  others  cures,  my  self  I  kill. 


When  Life,  or  Death,  when  Honors,  Pleasures, 
Times,  &  Treasures, 
Shall  tempt  me  to  betray 
My  Functions  duty,  may 
Thy  Grace  my  Buckler  be,  &  so 
No  Powers  thy  feeble  Priest  shall  overthrow. 

Febr.  27. 


H 


Natalitium 

Martj.  13.  1647. 

EAVN  bless  mine  Eys  !     What  do  I  see 
Behinde  me  there  ? 
And  can  this  be 
A  Life  !  &  Mine  !  where  every  Year 
Is  but  a  Circle  fraught 

With  nought 
But  frothie  Emptines,  or  what 

Is  vainer  farr  then  that, 
Earth-groveling  Thoughts,  fond  Wishes,  foolish  Fears, 
Foule  Sloth,  proud  Wilfulnes,  distrustfull  Cares. 


And  what's  that  sweet  &  pretious  Band 
Of  heavnly  Things 
Which  by  it  stand  ? 
What's  He  who  spreads  his  ready  Wings 
A  downie  Shield  to  be 
For  Me 
And  my  unworthy  Life  ?     Alas 

Those  are  the  Powers  of  Grace ; 
And  this,  my  everwatchful  Guardian,  whoe 
Strove,  not  to  let  me  mine  own  Self  undoe. 

33i 


332     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 


O  me  !  their  blessed  Sight  confounds 
My  guilty  breast, 
Bycause  those  Wounds 
Of  Love  &  Life  I  did  resist 

By  which  sweetcruel  They 
To  slay 
That  sinful  Death  did  strongly  strive 

Which  in  my  Soule  did  live. 
And  now  the  sweeter  are  their  Looks,  the  more 
Floods  of  Dismay  upon  my  Heart  they  poure. 


And  have  I  liv'd  for  this,  that  I 

At  length  should  be 
Frighted  with  my 
Own  Life's  strange  Looks  !     O  pittie  Me 
All  yee  who  ever  felt 

What  Guilt 
Can  do,  when  all  its  hideous  Dread 
In  stern  array  is  spred 
Before  a  trembling  Soule,  which  doth  perceive 
How  all  her  Life  long  She  did  never  Live. 


How  shall  I  do  to  look  i'  th'  face 

This  dawning  Year, 
Who  careless  was 
Of  those  in  which  Heavns  Love  did  spare 
My  dareing  Impudence. 
O  whence 
Shall  I  snatch  Comfort,  who  so  long 

On  Patience  heaped  wrong  ! 
On  thy  deer  Patience,  JESU,  which  hath  fought 
With  all  the  Sinns  vile  I  against  it  brought. 


Natalitium  333 


Whence,  but  from  Thee,  sweet  King  of  Grace 
Who  never  yet 
Hid'st  thy  milde  Face 
From  any  which  Thou  sawest  wett 

With  penitent  floods  ?     Yf  Thou 
Wilt  now 
But  with  thy  Beams  of  Mercie  shine 

On  this  dead  Heart  of  mine, 
With  holy  Vigour  'twill  at  length  revive, 
And  I  again,  this  year  at  least,  shall  live. 


O  give  Me  leave  to  think,  that  thy 

Blest  Will  alone 
Did  dignify 
Me  with  that  mighty  Function 

In  which  Thou  didst  instate 
Of  late 
Thy  worthless  Worm  :  And  shall  thy  Priest 
Go  Sacrifice  the  rest 
Of  his  (how  pretious)  Time  at  any  shrine, 
O  most  deserving  JESU,  but  at  thine  ? 

8 

Forbid  it  most  almighty  Lord, 

Upon  whose  great 
Authentik  Word 
All  Wonders  give  attendance !     Let 
Me  either  live  to  Thee ; 
Or  see 
No  more  unprofitable  days  : 

For  what,  what  have  the  ways 
And  works  of  Darknes,  &  infernal  Night 
To  do  with  pure  &  sin-upbrayding  Light  ? 


Anniversarium  Baptismi 

Martj.  21,  — 47. 


STILL,  still  deer  LOVE,  must  I 
In  spight  of  HERESY, 
My  thanks  on  this  Days  Altar  heap ; 
Thy  Goodnes  still  I  must  adore, 
Which  washd  a  poor 
And  sin-besmeard  Thing,  in  that  deep 
And  spotless  Fount  of  Purity 
Which  thy 
Compassion  broachd  to  dense  that  fatal  Stain 
Which  from  old  Adam,  o'r  all  Soules  did  reign. 


Let  cruel  Hearts  deny 
Thy  mighty  Courtesy 
To  infant  Soules,  &  boldly  plead 
That  Baptisms  due  to  none  but  those 

Whome  Years  dispose 
Unto  thy  Faith  to  bowe  their  head  : 
Let  sacrilegious  Impudence 
Go  rinse 
And  wash  away  that  blessed  Washing  Thou 
Didst  on  thy  tender  newborn  Lambs  bestow. 

334 


Anniversarium  Baptismi         335 


It  is  enough,  (&  more ;) 
Sweet  Lord,  that  I,  before 
I  could  desire  that  Boon  of  Thee, 
Was  in  Lifes  blessed  Fountain  drownd ; 

Which  cur'd  my  Wound 
Before  I  felt  my  Miserie. 
Ne'r  will  I  wrong  thy  Goodnes  so 
As  to 
Suspect  the  Soundnes  of  that  Cure  which  from 
The  mighty  Saviour  of  the  World  did  come. 


But  a  new  wound  doth  slay 
My  guilty  Heart  to  Day, 
Whilst  Recollection  tells  me  how 
I  have  by  many  a  Sinn  in  grain 

Distained  again 
That  Soule  which  most  propitious  Thou 
Wert  pleasd  at  first  to  wash  so  white, 
And  bright. 
O  me !  my  inward  Blotts  now  damp  that  Grace 
And  Joy,  wch  else  would  gild  this  Mornings  face. 


Had  not  thy  Hands,  &  Side, 
And  Feet,  sett  open  wide 
Another  Flood  ;  my  squalid  Soule 
Would  prove  fitt  fuel  for  those  Flames 

Whose  burning  Streams 
With  everlasting  Sulphure  roll 
Into  that  purple  Sea  of  thine, 
Let  mine 
Afflicted  Vessel  launch,  that  I  may  scape 
The  most  irreparable  Wracks  Mishapp. 


336     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 


O  make  my  Heart  disdain 
Henceforth  to  entertain 
The  least  of  Thoughts,  which  may  invite 
Me  to  dissolve  that  Faith  which  I 

To  Thee  &  thy 
Pure  Service,  on  this  Day  did  plight. 
What  is  this  Worlds  brave  Vanitie 
To  Me; 
What  are  the  Devils,  &  the  Fleshe's  Charms  ? 
Since  I  am  thrown  into  thy  nobler  Arms. 


Thine  &  thy  Churche's  Arms : 
O  blessed  Nest !     No  Harms 
Can  reache  Me  there,  unless  I  be 
Conspirator  with  them,  &  fight 

Against  that  Might 
Which  Thou  afford'st  to  shelter  Me. 
JESU,  forbid  it  then,  that  I 
Should  by 
Selftreachery  be  slain,  &  onely  live 
An  endless  Life  unto  my  Death  to  give. 


Submission 


OFT  has  my  prostrate  Soule  to  Thee 
Great     Lord    of    Love,    commended     this 
DESIGNE 
Whose  restless  importunitie 

Burns  in  this  Heart  of  mine  : 
And  at  thy  gracious  Feet  full  low 
It  &  my  Self,  again  I  throw. 


Thou  se'st  how  many  pretious  Houres 

Of  my  short  Time  it  spends  :  Thou  seest  how 

It  reigns  in  all  my  Thoughts,  &  pours 

Storms  of  Disquiet  through 
My  deerest  Meditations,  which 
Fain  at  thy  Heavn  &  Thee  would  reach. 


Most  bitter-sweet  DESLGNE  which  hants 
My  Bosome  with  such  Tyrannous  Delight, 

That  though  my  Hearts  Indeavour  pants 

To  flie  this  tedious  Night 
Of  gloomy  &  uncertain  Hope, 
Still  in  these  doubtfull  Mists  I  grope. 

337 


338     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 


Oft  have  I  thought,  that  I  had  drawn 
Neer  unto  Quiets  blessed  Shore ;  but  strait 
By  flattering  Fancy  I  was  thrown 

Into  some  new  Deceit : 
Still-joying  to  Sail  in  this  Sea 
Which  shipwrackd  all  my  Joies,  &  Me. 


And  thus  deliciously  perplext, 
Close  in  my  Breast  I  huggd  my  sweet  Distress ; 
Which,  though  it  always  knawd  &  vext 

With  pleasing  Restlesness, 
I  durst  not  turn  my  Foe  away 
Whoe  me  so  daintily  did  slay. 

6 

My  Wounds  to  any  tender  Ey 
I  durst  not  shew,  nor  gain  a  Freinds  releif : 
I  durst  not  mine  own  Help  supply 

To  cure  ev'n  mine  own  Greif : 
I  unwishd  mine  own  Wishes,  and 
With  one  beat  down  my  other  Hand. 

7 
A  thousand  times  my  Thoughts  I  chode, 
And  then  as  oft  those  Chideings  did  recant : 
Against  my  Self  I  boldly  stood, 
And  when  I  firmly  ment 
This  Side  should  Victor  be,  the  other 
Soon  trampled  down  his  dareing  Brother. 

8 

Did  any  Riddle  e'r  present 
So  valiant  a  Coward,  as  poor  I ; 

Who  by  the  Wings  of  strange  Consent 
Pursue  ev'n  what  I  fly : 


Submission  339 

Whoe  hate  these  anxious  Thoughts,  yet  am 
So  mad  to  Think  none  else  but  them. 


9 

O  mighty  LORD  of  GOODNES,  my 
Most  aenigmatik  Greif  appeals  to  Thee  : 
Use,  Use  thine  own  Authority 

Both  upon  it,  &  Me. 
No  more  will  I  own  this  DESIGNE 
Unless  it  may  comply  with  Thine. 

10 

Pure  Sweets  dwell  in  thy  Will  alone, 
But  mine,  when  sweetest,  with  rank  Gall  doth  flow 
O  then,  may  Thine,  may  Thine  be  done, 

Though  mine  it  overthrow  ! 
The  onely  way  I  have  to  quiet 
My  troubled  Will,  is,  to  Deny  it. 


A  Preparatory  Hymne   to    the  Week    of 
Meditations  upon,  &  Devout  Exercise 
in  the  Historie  of  Christ ;     composed 
for  my  Friend 


N 


O  Days,  nor  Weeks,  must  I 
Account,  but  by 

The  Revolutions  of  LOVE  : 

LOVE  is  the  Sunn 
Whose  Flame  alone 

In  My  Soules  loyal  Orb  shall  move. 


Rebellious  is  each  Houre 

Which  doth  not  poure 

The  homage  of  its  highest  Praise 
In  a  full  Stream 
On  LOVES  dear  Name ; 

That  Name,  wch  Heavn  with  Bliss  arrays. 

3 

LOVE  is  my  King,  &  I 
Hold  onely  by 
His  Grace's  royal  Charter :  He 
Right  nobly  gave 
Me  all  I  have ; 
And,  what  is  more,  gave  Me  to  Me. 
340 


A   Preparatory  Hymne         341 


4 

Me  !     What  am  I !  vile  I  ! 

LOVE  scorneth  by 
So  poor  a  Gift,  to  bound  his  Grace : 

Himself  on  Me 

Illustrious  He 
By  his  brave  Self  bestowed  was. 

5 

And  is  not  my  poor  Time 
All  due  to  Him  ? 

To  bounteous  Him,  who  offers  Me 

The  soverain  treasures, 
And  boundless  pleasures 

Of  his  supreem  Eternitie  ? 


Due,  more  then  due  it  is  : 

And  I  by  his 
Exploits  of  Grace  henceforth  will  raise 

My  Soule  to  frame 

A  better  Name 
For  all  my  consecrated  Days. 

7 

No  other  Gods  I'l  seek 

To  fill  my  Week  : 
LOVE,  nothing  else  but  LOVE  alone, 

Is  of  extent 

Sufficient 
To  swell  my  Weeks  dimension. 

8 

From  Morn  to  Evening  I 
The  History 
Of  LOVE  through  all  my  houres  will  spread ; 


342     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

That  I  may  prove 
My  Trade  is  LOVE, 
With  LOVE  Tl  Rise,  &  Goe  to  bed. 


From  LOVE'S  poor  Cratch,  my  Race 

ri  gin,  &  trace 
His  noble  Acts,  untill  I  see 

Him  mounted  on 

His  erned  Throne 
Of  Glorie's  bright  Sublimitie. 

10 

And  when  I  thus  have  brought 
My  Week  about ; 

Fl  to  his  Cratch  again,  &  move 
With  restless  Rest 
From  East  to  West 

In  none  but  in  the  Sphear  of  LOVE. 

ii 

So  I  in  Him,  &  He 
Deliciouslie 

Shall  move  in  Me :  So  shall  not  I, 

Though  heer  I  breathe 
On  Earth  beneath, 

Think  Heavn  above  my  head  doth  ly. 


A  Conclusorie  Hymne  to  the  same  Week; 
&  for  my  friend 


T 


kHUS,  thus  my  Soule  perceiveth  now 
To  what  my  longest  Days  I  ow ; 
And  I  recant  the  Praises  I 

Have  often  tun'd  so  high 
To  goodly  June's  most  florid  Powers, 
And  lofty  Cancers  sixteen  golden  Houres. 


It  is  not  June,  nor  Cancer  which 

The  Ev'n  so  farr  from  Morn  doth  stretch, 

Charming  Heavns  Flame  to  loyter  heer 

About  our  hemisphear. 
O  no  !  the  courteous  summer  Sun 
Which  gives  the  Days  true  length  is  LOVE  alone. 


Witness  this  blessed  Week,  which,  though 
The  Days  now  shrinck  &  shorter  grow, 
Disdaineth  to  be  measured  by 

That  Moneth  or  Year,  which  I 
Spun  out  before,  &,  having  done, 
Found  my  vain  Thred  was  into  Nothing  run. 

343 


344     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 


The  further  Vanitie  doth  spread, 
The  less,  &  shorter  is  its  Thred ; 
And  Emptines,  the  more  it  grows, 
Onely  the  more  doth  loose. 
Such  were  my  Moneths  &  Years,  till  I 
Began  to  trade  in  LOVES  deer  History. 

5 

But  now  my  Days  so  long  appear, 
That  in  each  Week,  I  live  a  Year : 
My  better  Years  I  reckon  by 

LOVES  Motions  j  &  I 
Have  found  a  way  each  Week  to  run 
Through  the  whole  Circle  of  my  deerest  SUN. 


And  yet  that  dainty  Bliss,  by  wThich 

My  Days  to  such  sweet  lengths  do  stretch ; 

So  strangely  shrinks  them  up  again, 

That  in  the  shriveld  reign 
Of  Capricorn,  clung  Winter  is 
Pent  up  in  Days  less  scant  &  short  than  these  : 

7 
Than  these,  these  Summer  Days  of  mine ; 
In  which  now  LOVE  alone  doth  shine, 
His  mighty  Beam's  delicious  Tide 

Pours  out  it  self  so  wide, 
That  every  Day  would  take  its  flight 
To  bed  too  soon,  though  'twere  an  Age  to  Night. 

8 

For,  what's  an  Age  to  those  deer  Sweets 
Whose  boundless  Ocean  duely  meets 
My  Meditations,  whersoe'r 

My  Soule  her  bark  doth  steer  ? 


A  Conclusorie  Hymne         345 

That  bark,  which  though  for  evermore 
It  sails,  yet  cannot  reach  this  Oceans  shore. 


My  Days  look  but  like  Minutes  now. 
My  Houres  like  wretched  Nothings  show 
Whilst  yet  me  thinks  I  but  Begin 
The  Evening  rusheth  in ; 
And  over  all  the  world  'tis  night 
Whilst  in  my  Soule  'tis  yet  but  New  daylight. 


This  is  LOVES  sweet  &  heavnly  sport, 
To  make  my  Days  so  long,  &  short  j 
That  so  they  may  a  Shaddow  be 

Of  his  Eternitie, 
Which,  though  beyond  all  Time  it  swell, 
Yet  is  an  Instant  its  best  Parallel. 


n 

And  straitned  in  this  Vastnes  may 

I  ever  be  !     Let  every  Day 

Less  than  a  Minute  seem ;  yet  such 

As  no  Age  can  outreach  : 
Whilst  my  Devotions  sweetly  rove 
In  this  deer  Riddle  of  divinest  LOVE. 


For,  what's  this  empty  WTorld  to  Me, 
Who  finde  no  Fullnes,  butt  in  Thee  ? 
In  Thee,  great  LOVE,  who  onely  art 

The  Soverain  of  my  Heart : 
My  Heart,  which  Thou  so  strongly  by 
Thy  Sweetnes  flr'st,  that  it  must  LOVE,  or  dy. 


Content 

Philip.  4.  ii. 


D 


IVINE  Content ! 

O  could  the  World  resent 
How  much  of  Bliss  doth  lie 

Wrapp'd  up  in  thy 
Delicious  Name  ;  &  at 
How  low  a  Rate 
Thou  mightst  be  bought ;  No  Trade  would  driven  be 
To  purchase  any  Welth,  but  onely  Thee. 


Thee,  pretious  Thee, 
Who  canst  make  Povertie 
As  rich  as  th'  Eastern  Shore, 

Or  Western  Ore ; 
And  furnish  Job  a  Seat 

More  fair  &  sweet 
Upon  the  Dunghill,  than  the  glistering  Throne 
Of  Glories  Darling,  pompous  Solomon. 


For  He,  in  all 
The  whole  Worlds  mighty  Ball, 
Which  up  &  down  he  tost 

In's  thoughtfull  breast, 
346 


Content  347 


No  solid  Sport  could  finde 
To  pay  his  Minde 
For  his  deep  studious  Pains ;  being  flouted  by 
Th'  affronts  of  spirit-vexing  Vanity. 

4 

But  noble  Job, 
(Though  clad  in  Torments  roab, 
And  sadly  seated  on 

Shame's  wretched  Throne 
Having  no  Sceptre,  but 
A  Potsherd  put 
Into  his  woefull  Hand,  with  which  he  reigns 
O'r  nought  but  his  rebellious  Boils  &  Pains ;) 

5 

Is  pleas d  so  well, 
That  he  his  mouth  can  fill 
With  Blessing  &  with  Praise 

Of  Him  who  lays 
That  mighty  load  of  crosses 
And  matchless  Losses 
Upon  his  naked  back  j  &  doth  persist 
Ev'n  still,  the  greatest  Man  of  all  the  East. 


And  why  may  I 
Not  valiantly  defie 
The  face  of  any  Storm 

Mischance  can  arm 
Against  my  Bark  ?     Why  may 
I  not  obey 
HIS  WILL,  which,  though  a  Flood  of  Gall  it  seems, 
Will  by  Submission,  turn  to  Honey  Streams  ? 

7 

What  will  it  cost, 
When  I  by  Storms  am  tost, 


348     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

Not,  by  repineing,  to 

Augment  my  Woe  ? 
Let  all  the  Windes  worst  Ire 
Proudly  conspire ; 
Yet,  yf  I  durst  but  say,  I  AM  CONTENT ; 
Those  Windes  may  whistle,  for  their  furie's  spent. 


8 

CONTENT'S  the  Thing 
Which  makes  a  Slave  a  King, 
Whilst  in  all  fortunes,  still 

He  has  his  will : 
Nor  do  his  Gives  to  him 
More  heavy  seem 
Bycause  of  Brass,  than  yf  they  were  of  Gold  ; 
For,  his  own  Slavery  he  in  chains  doth  hold. 


CONTENT  can  laugh 
At  all  Mishapps,  and  scoff 
Ev'n  Scoffings  and  Disgraces. 
CONTENT  outfaces 
All  Impudence,  ev'n  by 
Meek  Modesty : 
And  the  Carreer  of  Opposition  breaks 
Only  bycause  she  no  resistance  makes. 


10 

CONTENT  can  be 
Full,  &  good  Companie 
In  Solitude :  CONTENT'S 
Christmass  in  Lent; 
In  Wracks  &  Losses,  Gain ; 
Sunshine  in  Rain ; 
A  Cropp  of  Sonns  &  Daughters  springing  from 
A  single  Bed,  or  Barrennesses  Wombe. 


Content  349 


11 

CONTENT  is  Peace 
Amidst  Warr's  Miseries, 
CONTENT  is  Rest,  although 

Sleep  flies  the  brow. 
CONTENT,  in  Plunder's  wealth, 
In  Sicknes  Health, 
Fruition  in  Hope,  Plenty  in  Dearth, 
In  Night  Day,  Life  in  Death,  &  Heaven  on  Earth. 

12 

O  deer  CONTENT 
Thou  onely  Firmament 
Where  Starrs  can  fixed  shine ; 

May  I  in  thine 
Illustrious  Orb,  above 

All  Motions  Move  ! 
So  shall  my  panting  Heart,  with  restless  Rest 
Wherever  I  am  whirld  about,  be  Blest. 


A  Secret  Sigh 


G 


UILTY,  guilty,  must  I  crie  j 
Or  give  the  Lie 
Both  to  my  Self,  &  Thee 
O  LOVE,  mine  onely  Deitie. 
Thou  knowst  how  I  the  pretious  Bargain  stroke  : 
But  now  my  Vows,  &  therefore  I,  am  broke. 


Vow'd  I  not,  that  this  my  Heart 

Should  bear  no  part 
In  any  Joies,  but  them 
Which  from  thy  Fount  of  Sweetnes  stream  ? 
Yet  has  my  foolish  Soule  been  dabbling  in 
The  flattering  Delicates  of  sugerd  Brine. 


For  what  else  is  this  Delight 

Which  day  &  night 
Enchants  my  Thoughts  to  dance 
In  a  Vexatious-pleasing  Trance 
About  a  Thing  which  must  not,  cannot,  be ; 
A  Bratt  of  my  fantastick  Vanitie  ? 

4 

O  I  hate  the  Bratt,  bycause 

My  Love  it  draws 

350 


A  Secret  Sigh  351 

To  its  unworthy  Self; 
And  on  the  lovely-hatefull  Elf 
My  Indignation  could  I  freely  poure, 
That  Spight  with  genuine  Love  my  heart  would  store. 


5 

Once  again,  deer  LOVE,  sett  up 

My  bankrupt  Hope, 
And  broken  Heart :  that  I 
With  dear  &  sober  ardency 
Unto  my  most  inestimable  Freind 
My  wiser  Flames  may  patiently  extend. 


Thee,  who  in  that  Freind  of  mine 
So  full  dost  shine, 
May  I  gaze  on  alone 
With  amorous  intention  : 
And  not  upon  that  fond  &  worldly  Paint 
My  vain  thoughts  temper  to  adorn  my  Saint 


So  my  Vows  shall  stand,  though  I 
Still  magnify 
That  gentle  pretious  Sou/e, 
Letting  my  Meditations  roule 
In  that  deer  Sphear,  where  Thou  thy  Self  great  LOVE 
With  such  enamouring  Grace  art  pleasd  to  move. 


The  Relapse 


w 


ERT  Thou  not  what  Thou  art, 

O  Lord  of  most  unbounded  LOVE ; 
This  my  rebellious  Heart 

Durst  never  prove 
So  bold  as  to  implore 
Thy  Pardon  any  more, 
Bycause  my  Boldnes  hath  so  rampant  been 
Against  thy  mighty  Mercy  to  my  Sinn. 


For  have  not  I  again 
Resum'd  that  odious  Vomit,  which 
Of  late  I  did  disdain  ? 
Has  not  the  Itch 
Of  fond  Imaginations, 
And  fruitless  Contemplations 
Spred  its  unquiet  Taint's  unhappy  powers 
Over  my  calm  &  consecrated  houres  ? 


Has  not  my  foolish  Minde 
Foulie  misplac'd  its  Sorrow,  and 
Been  troubled  more  to  finde 
Thine  angry  Hand 
352 


The  Relapse  353 


Pouring  out  Vengeance  j  then 

To  see  my  Flood  of  Sinn, 
Whose  roaring  Waves  awak'd  thy  Wrath,  which  now 
In  woefull  Streams  of  Blood  about  doth  flow. 


Has  not  my  lavish  Breast 
Embrac'd  my  pretious  Friend  too  close : 
The  thoughts  of  whome  possest 

Me  so,  that  those 
Which  I  design'd  to  be 
Attending  upon  Thee 
Were  often  justled  out,  whilst  thus  my  faint 
Devotions,  from  my  God  fell  to  my  Saint. 


O  mighty  Soverain 
Of  Pittie,  Loe  my  prostrate  Heart 
Lies  trembling  once  again 

Under  thy  Dart : 
Strike,  strike,  &  pierce  it  by 
LOVES  healing  cruelty ; 
That  by  that  blessed  Wound  my  Soule  may  be 
Sett  ope,  &  bleed  out  every  thing  but  Thee. 


Jealousy 


STILL,  still  I  finde  my  Heart  too  much  below 
Which  makes  me  tremble  in  sad  fear 

That  something  heer 
Has  stoln  upon  that  heart,  which  now 
Pineing  in  strange  Ariditie 
Forgets,  deer  LOVE,  to  pant,  &  heave  to  Thee. 


Do  I  not  hate  this  World  ?     Me  thinks  I  do. 

For  what  has  rotten  Earth  that  can 
The  Soule  of  Man 

With  any  lovely  Motions  woe  ? 

But  in  thy  Heavn,  &  fairer  Thee, 
All  glorious  Attractions  reigning  be. 


And  yet  I  cannot  trust  this  Heart,  which  hath 
So  oft  deceiv'd  unhappy  Me. 
To  Thee,  to  Thee 
I  fly,  to  shew  me  by  what  Path 
From  my  Soules  Labyrinth  I  may 
Escape  into  thy  fair  Commandments  Way 
354 


Jealousy  355 


I  care  not  though  that  Path  be  thick  besett 

With  Shame,  &  Pain,  &  Wrongs,  &  Losses, 

And  thousand  Crosses ; 
Things  which  will  work  me  less  regret, 
Than  these  importunate  Thoughts  which  bait 

My  restless  Heart  with  fondly-sweet  Deceit. 


A  Dialogue 


(Set  to  be  sung  to  the  Viol,  by  a  Base,  &  a  Treble.) 
S.  Luc.  1 6. 


Dives 

24.      /^\  LET  thy  Pitty,  gracious  Sire, 

\^_y      Drop  down  on  my  tormenting  Fire  ! 

Though  in  profoundest  Death  I  frie, 

Alas,  I  have  not  leave  to  die. 

Lo  how,  with  my  Complaint,  the  Flame 

Forth  from  my  scorched  Lipps  doth  stream  : 

One  Dropp  of  Water  will  to  me 

An  Ocean  of  Comfort  be. 

Send  Lazarus  then  to  Me  beneath 

To  quench  my  Toung,  &  cool  my  Death. 


Abraham 

x.  25.     When  Thou  &  He  on  earth  did  dwell, 
Thou  hadst  thy  Heavn,  &  He  his  Hell : 
But  changed  Bothe,  you  now  do  reign, 
In  Pleasure  He,  &  Thou  in  Pain. 

x.  26.  Besides,  between  our  Realm,  &  yours, 

A  mighty  Gulfe  the  Way  devours, 
And  frights  all  Feet  from  venturing  through 
From  You  to  Us  or  Us  to  You. 
356 


A  Dialogue  357 


Dives 

x.  2  7.     Then  let  Him  warn  my  Brethren  how 
28.     To  scape  this  Sink  of  Deaths  below : 
'Tis  Loss  more  than  enough,  that  thus 
Hell  has  gaind  One  of  Six  of  Us. 

Abraham 

x.  29.     What  other  Preachers  need  They,  who 
May  to  the  Law  &  Prophets  go  ? 

Dives 

x.  30.     Yf  One  from  Death  to  Life  repent, 
'Twill  make  them  also  Paenitent : 
A  Dead  Toung  moves  the  quickliest,  and 
No  Pulpits  can  like  Graves  command. 

Abraham 

x.  31.     When  Moyses,  &  the  Prophets  can 

Not  rouse  th'  impaenitent  Heart  of  Man ; 

No  Resurrection  of  the  Dead 

Will  Raise  Him  from  his  sinfull  Bed. 


Chorus. 


A  Dialogue 

(For  a  Base,  &  two  Trebles.) 

S.Joh.  ii.  x.  21.  (set  by  T.  T.  &  R.  M.) 

Martha 

DEATH  had  not  venturd  to  draw  neer, 
Hadst  Thou,  great  Lord  of  Life  been  heer : 
But  in  thine  Absence  bold  He  grew, 
And  Us  in  our  deer  Brother  slew. 

Jesus 

x.  23.     Thy  Brother  fell,  when  He  was  slain, 
But  to  rebound  to  Life  again. 

Martha 

x.  24.     I  know  that  He  shall  raise  his  head 
Again,  when  Time  is  put  to  bed  : 
When  thy  great  Trump  shall  summon  forth 
The  World,  &  wake  up  Dust  from  Earth. 

Jesus 

x.  25.     Already  Faith's  cleer  Ey  in  Me 
May  Life  &  Resurrection  see. 
Who  puts  in  Me  his  faithful  Trust, 
Shall  Live  ev'n  in  his  Buried  Dust  : 
358 


A  Dialogue  359 


Nor  ever  shall  Deaths  proudest  Darts 
Feed  on  Beleeving  living  Hearts. 
Beleev'st  Thou  this  ? 

Martha 

x.  27.  Sweet  Lord,  no  more  : 

My  Faith  doth  Thee,  as  God  adore, 
Who  from  thy  Father's  bosome  forth 
Didst  come,  to  bring  down  Heavn  to  Earth. 

Mary 

x.  32.     Deer  Lord,  who  once  vouchafst  to  lett 
My  Ointment  dew  thy  blessed  feet, 
O  give  Me  leave  that  I  before 
These  Altars  now  my  Tears  may  poure  : 
That  for  Thy  Burial  was ;  but  this 
Effusion  for  my  Brother's  is  : 
For  He,  bycause  Thou  wert  not  heer, 
Is  flown  to  heavn  to  seek  Thee  there. 

Jesus 
x.  34.     Where  is  He  layd? 

Mary 

Sweet  Lord,  oh  come, 
See  our  Greifs  Monument,  &  His  Tombe. 

Jesus 
x.  39.     Remove  the  Stone. 

Martha 

Corruption  now 
Has  had  foure  days  mature  to  grow : 
Alas  what  Comfort  can  We  think 
Such  Graves  Mouthes  breathe,  but  deadly  Stink  ! 


360     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

Jesus 

x.  40.     Told  I  not  Thee,  Thy  faithfull  Eye 
Gods  glorious  Power  should  descry  ? 
Alas,  thy  Faith,  (as  Thou  shalt  see,) 
More  dead  &  rotten  is  than  He. 
LAZARUS  COME  FORTH. 

Chorus 

x.  44.  He  comes,  He  comes. 

O  mighty  Word,  which  can  from  Tombes' 
Fright  Death,  &  Fate ;  &  make  Him  who 
Is  ty'd  &  bound,  have  power  to  goe  ! 


Once  &?  Ever 


SURE  LOVE  is  nothing  less  than  Love, 
Yf  it  immortal  doth  not  prove  : 
Yet  mighty  LOVE  to  Justine 
Himself  to  be  Himself,  did  dy. 

Sweet  Mystery,  which  thus  can  be 

Immortal  by  Mortalitie  ! 
LOVE  dy'd  indeed,  but  by  that  Art 
Struck  Death  it  self  through  Deaths  own  heart. 
LOVE  dy'd ;  but  rose  again,  to  prove 
That  though  LOVE  dy's,  still  LOVE  is  LOVE. 

Thus  gains  the  glorious  Phaenix  by 

His  sweet  death,  Immortality. 
O  never  then  let  the  foule  shame 
Of  Change,  blott  Loves  eternal  name ; 
Nor  fancy  that  in  love  thou  wert 
With  LOVE,  yf  from  his  love  thou  start : 

But  since  LOVE  liv'd,  &  dy'd  for  Thee, 

Learn  what  thy  love  to  LOVE  must  be. 


36i 


Epiphanie   Carol 

(Set  to  3  parts.) 

Chor.      /AUR  Starr  its  pious  Task  has  done, 

\s_^/      Now  it  has  brought  Us  to  the  Sun ; 
To  Thee,  by  whose  sweet  Light  may  We 
The  Ways  of  thy  Commandments  see. 

Thou,  who  this  Stable  mak'st  thine  East, 
Wilt  stoop  to  Rise  in  our  foule  breast. 


Vs.  i.  Behold 

This  Gold 
Pale  at  the  Splendor 
By  which  thy  tender 
Eyes  its  vilenes  open  sett 
Doth  crave 
Thy  leave 
To  be  beholden 
For  truly  golden 
Worth,  to  thy  Accepting  it. 

Cho.     This  Gold  it  self  will  crowned  be 

Fairest  of  Kings,  by  crowning  Thee. 


Vs.  2.  And  now 

See  how 
362 


Epiph 


anie  Carol  363 


Our  Incense  soreth 
Not  up,  but  towreth 
Down,  to  reach  the  loftier  skie ; 
For  since 
Heavns  Prince 
Hath  stooped  hether, 
With  Him  together 
Heer  dwells  all  Sublimity  : 

Cho.     O  may  thy  Feets  perfuming  Kiss 

This  Incense  teach  what  Sweetnes  is. 


Vs.  3.  Lo  heer 

This  Myrrh 
Its  spicey  duty 
T'  Attend  the  Beuty 
Of  thy  humane  Nature  offers  : 
In  this 
Express 
To  Thee  her  royal 
Soverain,  thy  loyal 
Arabia  all  her  Gardins  profers. 

Cho.     Yf  Thou  own'st  Thou  wilt  thereby 
Her  Stile  of  HAPPY  ratine.  :||: 

Vs.  1.     But  to  my  OrTring  I  did  join 

My  heart.     (Vs.  2.)  As  I.     (Vs.  3.)  And  I  did  mine. 
Vs.  1.     No  longer  mine,  but  Thine.     (Vs.  2.)  For  He 

Has  none,  who  has  it  not  in  Thee. 
Vs.  3.     Yet  I  am  more  of  mine  possest, 

Than  when  'twas  lost  in  mine  own  breast. 

Cho.     And  though  our  Gifts  all  worthless  are, 
Accept,  sweet  Lord,  what  We  preferr. 
So  in  thy  debt  We  more  shall  be, 
Receiving,  whilst  We  give  to  Thee. 


feveBXiaKOv 


Martj.  13.  1648. 

WHILST  I  behinde  Me  cast  my  annual  Ey, 
What  do  I  but  my  Sodome  spy ! 
O  lamentable  Sight 

Which  justly  might 
Not  fix  Me  in  a  pile  of  Salt, 
But  all  my  guilty  Essence  melt 
Into  a  Flood  of  Paenitence,  whose  Tide 

Might  drown  that  which  is  gone, 
And  let  me  safely  on 
Its  back  unto  the  shore  of  this  Year  ride  ! 


Alas  !  that  I  must  these  twelve  Moneths  discount, 
In  which  my  Life  did  not  amount 

To  more  than  Death  :  For  though 
I  made  a  show 
Of  breathing,  &  still  walkd  about 
As  yf  in  Lifes  trade  I  had  wrought ; 
Yet,  sure  my  Paths  were  but  the  ways  of  Sinn, 
I  did  but  cheat  my  Breath, 
And  wretchedly  taught  Death 
Its  Victory  before  its  time  to  win. 

364 


fevedXiaKOv  3^5 


For  is  not  now  my  Soule  worse  by  a  year 

Than  'twas  before  ?     Am  I  not  heer 
Much  further  from  my  God, 
Than  when  I  trode 
My  two  &  thirtieth  Round  ?     And  by 
This  distance  of  Impiety 
I  grovel  in  a  deadly  Sink  j  For  though 

Fond  Men  beleve  where  e'r 
They  breathe,  they  Living  are, 
Yet  sure  in  Heavn  alone  true  Life  doth  grow. 


Those  Judgements  which  now  in  our  Island  reign, 
Might  well  have  weand  me  to  abstein 
From  the  bewitching  Breast 
Of  Worldly  Rest  j 
And  rather  to  Heavns  Bottles  send 
My  hearts  inflamed  Thirst,  than  spend 
My  pretious  Time  to  suck  that  Milk  which  can 
Perhaps  right-sweetly  mock, 
Or  delicately  choke, 
But  never  nourish  the  faint  Soule  of  Man. 


Yet  foolish  I  heer  needs  would  linger  still, 
To  get  of  Emptines  my  fill : 

As  yf  Heavns  Pleasure  must 
On  my  vain  Lust 
Have  danc'd  attendance ;  &  I  might 
Heerafter  time  enough  have  light 
My  lamp  of  Piety ;  yea  though  I  knew 
Mortalities  least  blast 
Might  Deaths  sad  curtains  cast 
O'r  my  Lifes  candle,  e'r  I  older  grew. 


366     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 


Alas,  yf  any  Act  appeard  in  Me 

Which  might  with  credit  owned  be, 
I  finde  no  ground  to  call 
It  mine  ;  for  all 
Its  beauty  flowd  from  His  fair  Love 
Whose  Mercy  with  my  Vilenes  strove. 
Nor  must  the  stinking  Puddle  think  that  she 
Is  beauteous,  'cause  the  Sun 
By  kinde  effusion 
Makes  Her  the  Glass  of  his  bright  Majestic 


But  sure,  too  sure,  I  am  that  Shame  alone 
Belongs  to  all  that  I  have  done : 
Nor  can  my  Blushes  die 
So  deep  &  high 
My  guilty  Cheeks,  but  tinctur'd  in 
A  redder  grain  I  finde  my  Sin  ; 
A  grain  so  obstinate,  that  were  the  Blood 
Of  JESUS  less  than  what 
It  is,  my  woefull  Blot 
Could  not  be  washd  away  by  any  Flood. 


Yet  Heavns  (&  none  but  Heavns)  allserching  Ey 
Did  this  Years  mystik  Pangs  descry, 
With  which  my  Heart,  alas, 
In  travel  was  : 
For  close  I  huggd  my  sweet  Distress^ 
And  feasted  on  its  bitterness. 
I  feasted  j  but  my  cruel  Banquet  still 
Reveng'd  my  appetite, 
By  torturing  Delight, 
And  bred  more  hunger  as  it  more  did  fill. 


feveSXiaKOP  3&7 


That  noble  Soule  whose  Sweetnes  made  this  Feast, 
And  deignd  to  let  Me  be  the  Guest, 

Though  much  it  knew,  yet  saw 
Not  upon  how 
Seveer  &  mercyless  a  Rack 
My  Thoughts  &  all  my  Spirits  were  broke. 
No !     Had  it  known,  its  generous  Love  would  by 
Some  speedy  Art  have  found 
A  way  to  close  that  Wound 
Which  all  this  tedious  Year  did  open  ly. 


Not  all  the  Seas  Wealth  could  with  Me  prevail 
Through  such  another  Year  to  sail, 
In  which  the  soule  of  Gall 
Was  mixd  with  all 
My  dearest  Tides  of  Joy,  whilst  I 
By  Absences  strange  cruelty 
A  thousand  present  Shipwracks  felt,  &  though 
I  was  in  ken  (&  more,) 
Of  my  desired  shore, 
Yet  might  (I  know  not  why,)  not  thether  row. 


ii 


How  often  has  my  working  Minde  been  tost, 
And  in  Amazements  billows  lost ! 
Against  the  insultations 

Of  mutinous  Passions 
As  often  as  I  pitchd  the  feild 
So  often  was  I  forc'd  to  yeild  : 
For  in  my  bosomes  Arcenal  did  ly 

My  pretious  Conqueror^  and 
How  then  could  I  withstand 
Those  volleys  which  from  my  own  heart  did  fly  ? 


368     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

12 

What  can  I  do,  great  LOVE,  but  sue  to  Thee, 
The  Master  of  my  heart  &  Me  ? 
Yf  this  my  deer  Designe 

Run  cross  to  thine ; 
Yf  it  inferrs,  (what  I  abhorr,) 
My  noblest  Freinds  true  damage ;  or 
My  own  Soules  Loss :  oh  rather  in  the  Sea 
Of  all  those  Woes  which  can 
Wrack  this  poor  Life  of  Man 
May  I  be  plung'd,  than  it  should  compassd  be. 

13 

But  yf  this  Joy  of  mine  suits  with  thy  Pleasure, 
Give  me  possession  of  my  Treasure. 
Fain  would  I,  this  Request 
Should  be  the  Best ; 
Yet  still  I  would  not,  yf  it  be 
Not  most  intirely  such  to  Thee. 
O  JESU,  Thou  who  se'st  my  Heart,  &  all 

The  Pangs  which  revell  there, 
Give  thy  propitious  Ear 
Unto  thy  prostrate  Worms  lamenting  Call. 

14 

So  shall  this  new  uncertain  Year,  to  Me 
Assure  it  self  a  Jubile  ; 

So  shall  my  wearied  Breast 
Attain  such  Rest 
As  for  thy  Work  may  fitt  Me ;  So 
No  longer  I  perplexd  shall  go 
In  Doubts  &  Fears  wilde  Maze ;  So  shall  I  strive 
To  gain  those  Years  which  I 
Have  lost  before,  &  by 
Thy  Graces  Aid,  at  least  now  gin  to  Live. 


Annivers :    Baptismi 

Martj.  21.  1648. 


H 


OW  much  worse  than  in  vain 
Had  I  been  Born 
That  other  Mom, 
Had  I  not  now  been  Born  again  ! 
For  that  was  but  my  Death's,  but  this 
Alone  of  my  true  Life  the  Birthday  is. 


The  Wormes  own  crawling  Brother 
I  then  was  Born, 
Vile  &  forlorn 
Corruptio?i  being  my  foule  Mother  ; 
From  whome  I  could  no  Title  have 
Of  Heir  to  any  Land,  but  to  my  Grave. 


But  by  this  second  Birth 
I  Kinred  had 
With  Heavn  &  God; 
For  She  who  now  did  bring  Me  forth 
Was  Gods  own  Spouse,  that  Holy  She 
Whose  Catholik  Wombe  breeds  Christianitie. 

369  2  B 


37°     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

4 

She  brought  Me  forth ;  &  I 
Was  now  the  Heir 
Unto  the  fair 
Inheritance  prepar'd  on  high 
For  those  who  study  to  maintain 
That  Title  They  did  by  their  Baptisme  gain. 


But  has  my  study  bin 

Thus  provident ; 
Or  rather  bent 
My  own  hearts  Bliss  to  undermine  ? 
Like  some  wilde  Heir,  spurrd  on  by  Hell 
Did  I  not  Heavns  Reversion  madly  sell  ? 


Alas,  I  did  :  &  all 

The  wretched  price 
I  took,  did  rise 
To  nothing  but  a  flood  of  Gall : 
For  what  can  all  this  World  to  Me 
Afford,  but  most  vexatious  Vanitie  ? 


O  King  of  my  poor  Heart, 
Whose  gratious  ear 
Delights  to  hear 
A  Sinners  Crie :  O  Thou  who  art 
The  Same  forevermore,  though  I 
Alas,  be  chang'd  into  Deformity, 

8 

Remember  thine  own  Love, 
And  so  forget 
How  I  on  it 


Annivers :   Baptismi  371 

Have  heapd  Ingratitude,  &  strove 
To  be,  what  yet  I  would  not  be 
Were  the  Worlds  total  Value  offerd  Me. 


9 

O  no,  sweet  Lord,  I  would 
Be  Thine,  &  none 
But  Thine  alone : 
And  though  fond  I  my  Bliss  have  sold 
To  Vanity ;  I  will  not  sell 
My  Hope,  since  Thou  art  my  Redeemer  still. 

10 

Baptise  Me  then  again 

In  Mercies  Flood, 
Which  is  thy  Blood  : 
And  so  no  longer  shall  a  Stain 
My  woefull  Difinition  be, 
Nor  Guilt  the  onely  Clothes  which  cover  Me. 

11 

So  shall  thy  Glory  shine 
Afresh  in  my 
New  Purity ; 
So,  though  the  Happines  be  Mine, 
Yet  still  it  shall  belong  to  Thee, 
When  Thou,  not  I,  sole  Owner  art  of  Me. 


Easter  Dialoge 


S.  Joh.  20.  13- 


(Set  to  4.  pts  by  T.  T.) 


i  st  Angel.      /nnv  HOSE  funeral  Tears  why  dost  Thou  shed 
On 


Life's  &  Resurrection's  Bed  ? 


2nd  Angel.    Why  must  those  lowring  Clowds  of  Sadness 
Defloure  this  virgin  Morn  of  Gladness  ? 


Magdalene. 


What  Morn  of  G/adnes,  now  the  Sun 
Of  all  my  fairest  Joyes  is  gone ; 
He,  whome  my  Soule  did  hope  to  meet 
Heer  in  this  West  in  which  He  sett  ? 
But  oh  !  That  more  than  deadly  Spight 
Which  robb'd  Him  of  his  Life's  sweet  Light, 
Lives  heer  You  see  in  Death's  own  Cave, 
And  plunders  Him  ev'n  of  his  Grave. 
Nor  know  I  where  our  Foes  have  put 
His  Body,  &  my  Soule  with  it. 


Jesus.  Woman,  to  what  Loss  do  thine  Eyes 

Such  full  drink-orT'rings  sacrifice  ? 


Magdalene.         Sweet  Gard'ner,  yf  thy  Hand  it  were 

Which  did  transplant  Him ;  Tell  me  where 
Thou  sett'dst  that  pretious  Root  on  whome 
Grow  all  my  Hopes ;  &  I  will  from 
That  Soile  remove  him  to  a  Bed 
With  Balme  &  Myrrh  &  Spices  spred, 
372 


Easter  Dialoge  373 

Where  by  mine  Eyes  two  Fountains  He 
For  evermore  shall  waterd  be. 


Jesus.  Mary. 

Magdal :  O  Master  ! 

Angel.  1  st.  and  2d.  With  what  sweet 

Fury  she  flies  at  His  deer  Feet, 
To  weep  &  kiss  out  what  She  by 
Her  Toung  could  never  signify ! 

Chorus 

O  no  !  the  Powers  of  sweetest  Toungs, 
Of  string-or-pipe-attended  Songs, 
Can  raise  no  pitch  of  Joy  so  high 
As  Easter s  Riseing  Majestie. 
O  glorious  Resurrection^  which  dost  Rise 
Above  the  reach  of  loftiest  Ecstasies  ! 


The  Surrender 


OFT  have  I  calm'd  Misfortunes  Deep, 
And  sung  my  storming  Greifs  asleep 
But  now  the  Tempests  Roar  is  swelld 
Too  high  to  Muse's  Voice  to  yeild : 
Or  yf  it  bowes  to  any  Verse, 
It  must  be  that  wch  shall  befriend  my  Herse. 


Alas,  my  Sorrows  were  no  more 
Then  could  be  scanned  heertofore  ! 
But  Measures  now  &  Numbers  be 
Themselves  no  longer  unto  Me ; 
Nor  can  their  terminated  Might 
Deal  with  those  Torments  which  are  Infinite. 


The  Soule  of  this  Complaint,  to  none 
Is  known,  deer  Lord,  but  Thee  alone 
Thou  seest  how  lamentable  I 
In  a  strange  Hell  of  Sweetness  frie  : 
Thou  se'st  my  Heart  &  Me  all  rent 
Upon  a  Rack  of  Torturing  Content. 

374 


The  Surrender  375 


Not  all  this  World  could  hire  Me  to 
Flie  from  this  delectable  Woe. 
Yet  yf  thy  Pleasure  be  to  ease 
My  deer  &  pretious  Miseries ; 
Do,  mighty  Lord ;  thy  Will  is  best : 
I  yeild,  &  will  endure  to  be  at  Rest. 


I  think  I  yeild :  O  Jesu  trie 
The  bottome  of  thy  Victory  : 
O  search,  &  sift  this  heart,  &  see 
It  cheats  not  Me,  nor  injur's  Thee. 
O  yf  it  bends  not,  break  it  quite  : 
That  Heart  is  soundest,  wch  is  most  Contrite. 


Upon  my  Fathers  Sudden   & 
Dangerous  Sickness 

Oct.  ii.  — 49. 

THOUGH  sad  this  Lesson  be  to  Me, 
Bycause  I  love  the  Book  wherein  'tis  writ 
Yet  shall  no  Greif  so  potent  be 
As  to  forbid  my  Industrie  to  get 

It  thoroughly  by  heart :  For  why 
Should  I  my  Father  loose,  although  He  dy  ? 


In  mine  own  Blood,  alas,  I  see 
This  Lesson  painted ;  &  I  needs  must  read  : 

Neer,  wondrous  neer  of  kin  to  Me 
His  very  Sickness  is ;  nor  could  I  plead 

Against  my  Fate,  although  I  were 
Made  his  Pains  Sonn,  &  his  Distempers  Heir. 


What  though  by  all  the  World  before, 
Whose  Dust  &  Graves,  Deaths  Victory  confess, 

Our  Times  will  take  no  Warning,  nor 
Expect  what  full  against  them  flying  is 

On  every  Minutes  Wings,  but  by 
Their  Lives,  their  Lives  uncertainty  deny  ? 
376 


My  Fathers  Dangerous  Sickness     377 


I  see  no  ground  to  fancy  how 
This  Moment  can  secure  the  next  to  Me  : 

O  no  !  Mortality,  wch  now 
Knocks  at  my  Fathers  door,  right  neighbourlie 

To  mine  gives  Warning,  &  may  heer 
Enter,  for  aught  I  know,  as  soon  as  there. 


And  let  it  enter,  JESU,  when 
Soe'r  thy  Pleasure  is  its  way  to  ope ; 

But  first,  oh  first,  do  Thou  come  in, 
That  by  thy  gracious  Presence  Thou  mayst  stopp 

What  Thou  admittest ;  for  by  Thee 
Deaths  Ev'n  shall  be  the  Dawn  of  Life  to  Me, 


feveBXtdKov 


March  13.  1649. 

TWELVE  Moneths  agoe,  what  rate  would  I  too  dear 
Have  thought,  to  buy  me  but  another  Year-, 
In  which  I  Virtues  Quarrell  might 
Revenge  with  Poenitence's  fist. 
And  stoutly  wreak  my  holy  Spight 
Upon  my  most  rebellious  Breast : 
That  so  the  Sight  of  my  own  Life  might  not 
Before  I  dy'd,  death  through  my  heart  have  shott ! 


Yet,  though  great  LOVE  hath  reined  Justice  in 
From  my  bold  Three-and-thirty  Years  of  Sin ; 
And  giv'n  me  Mercy's  generous  leave 
This  other  annual  Round  to  tread  : 
Alas  what  use  of  this  Repreive 
Has  my  ingratefull  Madnes  made, 
Who  have  but  raisd  my  Guilts  vast  Mountain  more 
By  a  Years  height  than  it  was  swelld  before ! 


Though  I  have  seen  our  wretched  Britain  made 
The  Isle  of  Monsters ;  though  the  onely  Trade 
378 


revedXictjKOv  379 


Our  England  drives  be  Frensy,  and 
Rebellious  Desperation ;  Yet 
I  finde  a  more  enormous  Band 
Of  Rebells  in  my  Bosome  mett : 
Rebells,  whose  furious  stomach  dares  disdain 
Not  Britains  Monarch,  but  Heavns  Soverain. 


The  lower  House,  the  Commons  of  my  Breast, 
My  traiterous  Passions,  speciously  drest 
In  Liberties  bewitching  cloke  ; 
First  trampling  down  my  Will  &  Reason 
As  useless  Peers,  in  triumph  broke 
Into  the  gulfe  of  deepest  Treason, 
And  murdered  their  royal  Lord  again, 
Whose  guilt  was  nothing  but  his  Gentle  Reign. 


Afresh  thus  having  JESUS  crucifi'd, 
In  Sinns  anarchical  carreer  they  ride  : 
And  I,  alas,  unhappy  I, 
In  woefull  Vassalage  enchaind, 
A  Prey  to  my  own  Madnes  ly ; 
That  Madnes,  which  for  me  hath  gaind 
A  decent  Vengance  on  my  proud  Offence, 
A  Rout  of  Tyrants  for  one  gracious  Prince. 


With  what  sore  Taxes  did  they  pill  &  poll 
The  holy  Score  of  my  once  thriveing  Soule  ! 
How  has  their  Fury  stormd  me  from 
My  own  Free  Hold,  not  leaving  Me 
So  much  to  dwell  in,  as  the  Home 
Of  my  own  Self !  how  cruelie 
Have  they  by  Sequestration  seized  even 
On  that  Reversion  which  I  had  of  Heaven  1 


380     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

7 

A  King,  a  King,  again,  say  I ;  &  none 
But  Him  who  is  our  rightfull  King  alone  ! 
JESU,  oh  JESU,  lend  thine  ear, 
Thine  ever-gracious  ear  to  Me, 
Whose  broken  Soule  desires  to  bear 
No  Yoke,  no  King,  but  thine  &  Thee ! 
I  have  this  cheating  Liberty,  &  fain 
In  thy  deer  Service  would  be  free  again. 

8 

For  yf  I  be  not ;  Why,  why  should  I  be 
At  all !     Or  what  is  this  New  Year  to  Me, 
But  a  New  Orb  of  Woe,  upon 
Whose  wheel  I  must  be  rackd  again, 
And  through  Lifes  longer  Torments  run 
To  longest  Deaths  more  heavy  Pain  ? 
The  thought  of  further  Life  slay's  Me  with  Dread, 
Yf  living  still,  must  make  me  ever  Dead. 

9 
O  never  never  let  my  Vessell  steer 
Through  such  another  treason-foaming  Year  ! 
My  Passions  no  such  Armies  have, 
Nor  Navies,  to  maintain  their  Pride ; 
But  Thou  into  Destructions  Grave 
Canst  easily  tread  their  strongest  Tide. 
Why  shouldst  not  Thou,  sweet  Lord  of  Power  &  Love, 
Who  art  MOST  HIGH,  be  every  where  above} 

10 

O  JESU  be  above,  &  Reign  in  Me : 
So  shall  these  Rebells  melt  to  Loyaltie : 

So  shall  that  other  Perturbation 

Which  all  this  Year  hath  toss'd  my  Breast 

And  wov'n  mysterious  Vexation 

Into  my  deerest  Joyes,  molest 
My  Soule  no  more  with  strange  Anxietie, 
Nor  tear  it  farr  farr  from  it  self,  &  Thee. 


revedXiuKOv  3°* 


Thine  Ey  alone  is  privie  to  the  Smart 

Of  those  long  Pangs  which  revelld  in  my  heart ; 

When  my  Desires  from  That  were  shutt 

From  Which  they  could  not  severd  be ; 

When  I  was  most  where  I  was  not ; 

When  onely  Absence  dwelt  with  me  j 
When  every  houre  hurri'd  &  flung  me  to 
Those  pretious  Sweets  to  which  I  might  not  go  j 

12 

When  I  could  scorn  all  Danger,  Toil,  &  Pain, 
That  most  inestimable  Gemm  to  gain, 
Yet  by  poor  slender  Nothings  saw 
My  way  quite  intercepted  ;  and 
In  spight  of  Loves  allconquering  Law, 
Ev'n  brave  Ascension  at  a  stand ; 
When  the  resolved  Flame  still  wider  spread, 
Yet  on  its  noble  Feuel  might  not  feed  : 

13 
When  I,  though  on  the  brink  of  fulltide  Joy, 
Liv'd  in  the  squalid  Desert  of  Dismay  ; 
When  Unity  it  self  might  not 
Be  one ;  When  Times  learnd  to  controll 
Beyond  their  Sphear,  &  bridle  what 
Was  now  eternal  in  my  Soule  ; 
When  I  might  not  free  Owner  be  of  that 
Whereof  I  had  intire  possession  gott. 

14 
Just  reason  of  a  guilty  Blush  could  I 
In  that  my  vehement  Designe  descry, 
An  hecatombe  of  Thanks  &  Praise 
I  at  that  Fortunes  foot  would  lay 
Which  barracado'd  all  the  ways 
That  led  to  my  desired  Joy : 
But  since  my  aim  was  pure,  oh  why  must  I 
So  long  obstructed  be,  /  know  not  Why  ? 


382     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

/  know  not  Why  :  unless  the  Worth  of  that 

Invaluable  Gemm,  a  barr  did  putt 

Against  my  Worthlessnes :  &  then 
Jesu,  I  yeild,  &  must  confess 
I  have  no  further  plea,  nor  can 
Pretend  desert  of  That  which  is 

So  sweetly  pretious  :  No,  I  know  I  must 

Miss  my  too-loftie  Aim,  yf  Thou  beest  Just. 

16 

Yet  since  thy  Justice-conquering  Goodnes  now 

Incourageth  my  Hopes  afresh  to  grow ; 
O  never  let  them  fade  again, 
Nor  sown  into  sad  Intermission, 
But  their  mature  Success  obtain 
And  flourish  into  sweet  Fruition  ! 

O  let  them  flourish  !  Or  quite  root  them  up. 

Dispair  is  better  farr,  than  fruitless  Hope. 


Anniversarium  Baptismi 

Mar:  21,  1649. 

ODEER  &  memorable  Day  to  Me, 
From  which  I  count  my  Christianitie  ! 
Eight  Days  I  breath'd,  but  did  not  live, 
Bycause  I  onely  was  what  I  was  Born ; 

But  Thou  a  blessed  check  didst  give 
To  my  sad  Fate,  &  me  with  Life  adorn. 


That  mighty  Deluge  which  its  fury  hurld 

Beyond  all  Shores,  &  wrack'd  the  anchient  World, 

Bury'd  not  Mortals  in  so  deep 
A  Death,  but  the  Baptismal  Flood  in  more 

Assured  Life  their  Soules  doth  steep, 
And  roll  them  to  Eternities  high  Shore. 


Thus  at  this  truelyest-living  Fountains  Head 
I  into  holy  Life  was  Buryed  : 

And  had  I  kept  that  Purity 
Which  in  that  liquid  Sepulchre  I  found, 

Not  Death  it  self  could  make  me  dy 
Who  was  Eternal  by  thus  being  Drownd. 

383 


384     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 


But  foolish  I  would  needs  be  padling  in 
The  lazie  filthly  Lakes  of  nasty  Sin ; 

Till  I  had  staind  my  careless  Heart 
With  poisnous  Spotts,  which  like  Plague-tokens  seald 

Me  for  my  Grave  :  Nor  could  the  Art 
Of  Man  or  Angel  cure  or  comfort  yeild. 

5 

O  no  !  a  LORD  HA  VE  MERCY  ON  ME,  was 
The  onely  Charm  in  that  infected  case : 

And  so  is  still ;  for  nothing  but 
The  soverain  Power  of  MERCY  can  asswage 

Sinns  strong  Contagion,  &  put 
Eases  soft  chains  on  my  Diseases  rage. 


T 


feveOXKLKOv 


March.  13.  1650. 

HIS  Morning  five  &  thirty  years 

Which  op'd  mine  Eyes,  did  broach  my  tears 
When,  though  I  wept  I  knew  not  why, 
Each  tear  distilld  a  Prophecy ; 

Liquid  &  clear  were  they, 
But  these  in  darknes  lay, 
Where,  like  all  others,  they  this  Maxime  held, 
Not  to  be  understood  untill fullfilld. 


For  what  Diviners  piercing  Ey, 
Though  help'd  with  those  of  heavn,  in  my 
Then-newborn-soule  could  read,  That  She 
Would  foulest  of  all  Monsters  be  : 
And,  by  mad  venturing  in 
The  desperate  Trade  of  Sin, 
Gain  so  much  Loss,  that  these  poor  Eyes  of  mine 
Should  need  aforehand  to  acquaint  with  Brine  ? 


Say,  treacherous  Heart,  say  with  what  reason 
Thou  darest  still  abhorr  that  Treason 
Whose  uncontrolld  Contagion  reigns 
In  miserable  Britains  veins  ? 

385  2  c 


386     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

Has  it  yet  tutord  Thee 

Into  thy  Loyaltie  ? 
Or  has  this  new-past  Year  had  power  to  bring 
Thee  to  Allegiance  to  thy  heavnly  King  ? 


Where  are  those  Promises  which  thy 
Sad-seeming  Tongue  did  heap  so  high  ! 
Ask  these  Twelve  Months  yf  ever  Thou 
Didst  keep  with  God  thy  Word  or  Vow. 
Why  start'st  Thou  now  away  ? 
Say,  shameless  Trayter,  say, 
Could'st  Thou  indure  thy  Slave  should  break  his  Word 
So  oft  with  Thee,  as  Thou  hast  with  thy  God  ? 


Yet  this  Allmighty  Lord  of  thine 
Still  reins  his  long-due  Vengance  in  : 
His  Love  with  longer  Time  He  baits, 
And  strangely  thus  thy  Leisure  waits : 
Thy  Death  He  doth  command 
At  distance  yet  to  stand ; 
And  by  this  other  Year  he  tempteth  Thee 
Into  the  arms  of  sweet  Eternitie. 


And  can  the  Flesh,  the  World,  or  He 
Who  vaunts  him  self  its  Prince  to  be, 
Bid  fairer  for  thee,  or  invite 
With  richer  arguments  thy  sight  ? 
Feel  then,  &  weigh,  &  see 
What  thus  inamours  thee  : 
Alas  thy  Prize  beguiles  thy  touch,  &  all 
Thy  Bliss,  to  empty  Vanity  doth  fall. 


fevedXiaKOv  387 


7 
Fool !  wilt  thou  mock  thy  God  ?  oh  know 
The  longer  He  doth  draw  his  Bow, 
He  shoots  the  surer,  &  his  Arrow 
Feirce  Speed  ev'n  from  Delay  doth  borrow. 
He  at  this  Seige  in  vain 
Long  long  enough  hath  layn  : 
Compell  Him  not  to  storm  thee  now,  'cause  He 
Woo's  thy  Surrender  with  such  Suavitie. 

8 

O  do  but  yeild,  &  thine  shall  be 
The  truer  happier  Victorie  : 
Yeild,  yeild,  &  win  a  Kingdom ;  even 
The  Realm  of  Joy  of  Life  of  Heavn. 
To  what  can  thy  Desire 
More  happily  aspire, 
Than  unto  that,  which  not  to  reach,  will  be 
Calamities  profound  extremitie ! 

9 

Nor  canst  Thou  plead,  That  all  thy  Bliss 
A  great  way  off  suspended  is, 
And  totaly  eclipsed  by 
Lying  in  dark  Futurity  : 

What  was  that  Heavn  which  thou 
Alone  desirdst  below? 
Is  it  not  now  into  thy  bosome  thrown, 
Makeing  most  happy  Thee  double  thine  own  ? 

io 

How  wert  Thou  torn  the  other  Year 
Upon  the  rack  of  Hope  &  Fear ! 
How  did  thy  Tears  dropp  through  thy  Quill 
And  so  into  thy  Verses  steal ; 

Whilst  every  Line  prov'd  true 
To  their  Inks  mourning  hue ; 
And  every  Syllable  sigh'd  Sorrows  tone, 
Each  Word  did  weep,  &  every  Rime  did  grone ! 


388     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

11 

But  now  that  Night  of  thy  Dismay 
Is  broke  up  into  Comforts  Day  : 
The  Harvest  of  thy  panting  Hope 
Is  ripe  &  reap'd  &  gatherd  up  : 
Thy  dear  Ambition  now 
Wears  on  its  crowned  brow 
That  most  invaluable  Jewell  which 
Can  robb  both  Indies  of  the  name  of  RICH. 

12 

And  what,  what  wouldst  thou  more  than  so, 
Thee  into  Virtues  Schole  to  woo  ! 
View  but  the  beauties  of  that  Gemm 
By  the  pure  light  of  its  own  beam  : 
Read  read,  &  study  there, 
And  then  confess  yf  e'r 
Thy  bookish  eyes  in  any  leaves  such  sweet 
And  lively  fruits  of  pious  Worth  did  meet. 

13 
What  though  Ascensions  lofty  pitch 
Surmounted  thy  unworthy  reach  ! 
Yet  may'st  thou  in  a  lower  sphear 
Due  motion  keep,  &  bright  appear. 

Move  then,  oh  Move,  &  Shine, 
Whilst  yet  thy  Time  is  thine  : 
Take  heed  thine  idle  self  thou  dost  not  cheat, 
By  plotting  then  to  Rise,  when  thou  must  sett. 

14 

Rise,  rise  my  Soule,  &  sleep  no  more 
In  sluggish  sin,  as  heertofore. 
All  Heavn  stands  ope,  &  willt  thou  miss 
A  mark  so  full  &  fair  as  this  ? 

Fear  not  its  height,  allthough 
Thou  crawlst  a  Worm  below : 
'Twill  meet  thy  reaching  Arms,  &  draw  thee  up, 
Unless  thy  Bliss  thou  willfully  dost  stopp. 


Anniversarium   Baptism! 

Marti  21.  1650. 


L 


OVE,  I  am  thine  :  for  yf  I  be 
Not  so  ;  Self  is  not  Self  to  me. 
No  Title  to  my  Self  have  I, 
But  in  thy  deer  Propriety  ; 
For  this  most  memorable  Day 
Polluted  Me  washd  clean  away, 
And  I,  who  was  before  a  dead 
And  still-born  Thing,  was  quickened 
Into  a  nobler  Essence  than 
Springs  from  the  rotten  loyns  of  Man  : 
I  of  my  mortal  Parents  wretched  Sonn 
To  be  thy  blessed  Childe  to  Day  begun. 


O  truest  Father,  how  did  thy 
Bounty  inrich  my  Poverty  ! 
How  large  a  Portion  didst  Thou 
On  me,  a  younger  Sonn,  bestow  ! 
A  Portion  of  Strength  &  Health, 
Of  Arts  &  Natures  usefull  wealth, 
Of  gratious  Motions,  holy  Heats, 
Heart-cheering  Joyes,  spiritual  Sweets, 
Of  high  &  noble  Things,  which  none 
But  such  a  Sire  could  give  a  Sonn  : 

389 


390     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

A  Portion  upon  whose  ample  Store 

I  might  have  bravely  liv'd  for  evermore ! 


I  might  have  liv'd ;  had  foolish  I 
To  deadly  Prodigality 
Not  sold  my  self,  &  turned  Slave 
Before  I  dy'd,  unto  my  grave : 
Had  I  that  fair  Estate  not  spent 
Fond  Lusts  &  Passions  to  content ; 
Nor  on  the  score  with  Vengance  run, 
To  be  the  surer  twise  undone. 
O  !  should  my  Creditors  awake 
Their  indignation,  &  take 
Due  course  of  Law  against  me,  What  would  bayl 
Me  from  the  bottom  of  Hells  deepest  Jayl ! 


Meanwhile,  alas,  all  that  I  finde 

To  feed  my  justly-starved  Minde, 

Are  sappless  skinns  of  Vanitie, 

Husks  drie  &  starv'd  as  well  as  She  : 

A  Diet  fitt  enough  for  Swine 

And  Me ;  since  both  of  us  combine 

With  feet  profane  in  dirt  to  tread 

Those  Perles  which  would  adorn  our  head, 

Or  purchase  nobler  Cates  which  might 

Our  palates  court  with  pure  delight. 

Ah  cheating  World,  how  hast  thou  mockd  my  taste, 

Obtruding  onely  Famin  for  a  Feast ! 


But  Thou,  great  Lord  of  endless  love, 
Hast  raised  thy  Patience  farr  above 
The  mountain  of  my  Guilt :  &  I 
Onely  from  that  thy  Victory 
Pluck  hopes  of  giving  this  my  great 
Unhappiness  a  sure  defeat. 


Anniversarium  Baptismi         391 

Behold  thy  pined  Prodigall 

Doth  at  thy  lowest  footstool  fall, 

Where  I  the  prey  of  Pity  ly ; 

Quarter,  oh,  quarter,  or  I  dy ! 
I  dy ;  for  all  my  Living's  spent  &  gone  ; 
And  none  can  raise  the  Dead  but  Thou  alone. 


I  envy  not  thine  Heirs,  who  be 
Sonns  of  devout  Frugalitie  ; 
Nor  reach  I  at  a  place  in  their 
Felicities  exalted  Sphear : 
Bold  bold  enough  is  my  ambition, 
Into  thy  Pay  to  begg  admission, 
And  have  my  Name  inroll'd  &  blest 
Ev'n  in  thy  meanest  Hirelings  list. 
Alas  'tis  not  for  famish d  Me 
To  article  with  mighty  Thee, 
For  'tis  to  Mercy  I  surrender  now  : 
O  may  I  but  be  Thine,  I  care  not  how ! 


A! 


revedXidKOV 

Marti  13.  1651. 

S  when  a  beauteous  Morn  brings  forth 
An  answerably-splendid  birth, 
And  Titan  with  a  smileing  face 
Gets  up  &  gins  his  golden  race ; 
Sereen  &  cheerly  Houres  attend 
His  wheels  which  up  Noons  mount  ascend, 
Suffring  no  envious  Clowd 
To  crowd 
Into  the  glorious  throne  of  Day 
Which  now  through  all  heavn  doth  her  realm  display. 


Yet  when  faint  &  decrepit  grown 
Into  the  West  she  stumbles  down ; 
Some  treacherous  Windes  have  taken  arms 
And  musterd  up  rebellious  Storms 
To  damp  her  peace's  gorgeous  grace 
And  tear  her  monarchies  bright  face ; 
Whilst  the  defeated  Sun 
Doth  run 
From  his  fair  colours,  &  is  wett 
Before  he  can  into  th'  Atlantik  gett. 
392 


fevedXiaKOV  393 


How  true  that  Day  paints  out  to  me 
This  Years  sweet-soure  repugnancie  ! 
A  Year  in  which  my  Joyes  grew  up 
Into  the  blade  of  cheerly  Hope  : 
But  blasted  then,  did  onely  yeild 
A  Crop  of  Greif  from  Comforts  Feild 
A  Year  which  taught  me  how 
To  grow 
Into  a  sad  beleif  that  heer 
Delight's  bright  Perl's  but  a  mistaken  Tear. 


Fair  dawnd  this  Year,  when  I  &  I, 
(All  Turtles  know  this  mystery,) 
Incouraged  by  pleasant  health, 
Vie'd  loves,  &  multiply'd  the  Wealth 
Of  that  most  pretious  Union,  which 
Denies  that  gold  or  gemms  are  rich  : 
Nor  did  his  progress  fail 
To  seal 
Upon  our  hopes  fresh  Joyes,  when  we 
Saw  in  that  Spring  nuptial  Fertilitie. 


How  large  a  promise  did  he  give 
That  I  should  more  than  double  live, 
Whilst  in  my  pregnant  Deerest  I 
Seem'd  rooted  to  posterity. 
How  honestly  at  length  he  made 
Shew  of  performing  what  he  had 
So  fairly  promis'd  me, 
When  he 
Payd  me  the  pretious  Daughter  from 
The  lovely  Mother-perl's  ingaged  wombe  ! 


394     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 


How  blooming  now  did  I  appear, 
Grown  young  &  fresh  again  in  Her ! 
Especaly  when  happy  She 
Corrected  her  nativitie, 
And  by  a  second  birth  became 
God's  childe  as  well  as  mine :   Her  Name 
Was  allso  now  no  less 
Express 
An  echo  of  her  Mother,  than 
Were  those  sweet  lines  which  through  her  feature  ran. 


Thus  this  Eliza  deerer  was 
By  being  that  Eliza's  Glass. 
In  this  epitomie  I  read 
(Yet  not  at  all  diminished) 
The  Mothers  Sweets ;  in  that  full  book 
Th'  expansion  of  the  Daughters  Look. 
Thus  did  I  feast  my  Joy, 
And  lay 
My  heart  to  take  her  deer  repose 
Now  on  the  Bud,  now  on  the  full  blown  Rose. 


8 


But  ah  !  the  flattering  treacherous  Year 
Which  rose  &  shin'd  till  now  so  cleer ; 
With  sudden  frowns  plough'd  up  his  brow, 
And  violently  study'd  how 
To  mock  my  Joy's  precocitie 
By  levelling  his  storm  at  me. 

For  by  an  envious  stroke 
He  broke 
My  dainty  Bud,  which  in  that  gust 
Was  quite  blown  down  &  buried  in  the  dust. 


fevedXiaKW  395 


Yet  why  do  I  accuse  the  Year, 
Which  taught  me  (though  by  a  seveer 
And  nature-tearing  lesson)  not 
To  build  my  hopes  &  joys  on  what 
The  easy  gaine  &  prize  can  be 
Of  tottering  Mortalitie. 

This  Lesson  &  hard  Art 
By  heart 
O  may  I  get,  &  run  to  thee 
Sweet  JESU  for  true  Rest's  Stabilitie. 


Annivers  :   Baptismt 

Mart.  21. 

COURAGE  my  Soule  !  what  though  thy  foes  combine 
Their  might  &  spight  to  undermine 
Thy  Peaces  fort,  &  throw 
That  Safety  low 

Which  thou 
Hast  long  in  building  been,  &  fain 
That  Fabrik's,  &  thy  Wishes,  topp,  wouldst  gain  ? 


Courage !     This  very  Day  must  Item  Thee 
Into  an  holy  Braverie  : 

This  happy  Day,  wherein 
Thou  didst  begin 
To  win 
A  place  in  Valour's  Army,  and 
Under  the  LORD  of  HOSTS  didst  listed  stand. 


3 

Thou  knowst  what  Colours  mighty  He  doth  give 
And  what  fair  badge  thou  didst  receive  : 
His  bloody  Crosse's  Sighn 
Whose  shape  divine 
On  thine 
Initiated  face  was  sett, 
To  valiant  Patience  consecrated  it. 
396 


Annivers  :   Baptismi  397 


He,  though  arm'd  with  Omnipotence,  did  choose 
By  Suffring  to  subdue  his  Foes  : 

That  Thou,  who  couldst  not  reach 
His  Powers  pitch 

Mightst  stretch 
Thy  hardy  patient  arms  (for  this, 
Weaknes  may  do,)  to  pull  down  Bayes  and  Bliss. 


O  cross  not  then  that  Cross,  which  marks  thee  out 
For  meekly  patiently  stout. 

Wear  not  God's  Badge  in  vain, 
But  bravely  strain 
To  gain 
Those  Palmes  thou  canst  not  loose,  yf  thou 
Wilt  but  endure  a  Conquerour  to  grow. 


M 


The  Journe 


May  17.  1652 

Y  Parents  deer  to  see  to  day 
My  Duty  summons  me  away 
Yt  must  my  heart  first  wait  on  Thee 
Great  Father  both  of  them  &  me. 
To  guide  my  journe  that  I  may 
Remember  still  Thou  art  my  Way  ! 
Thou  art  my  Way,  &  yf  of  Thee  I  miss, 
My  playnest  path  will  prove  a  Precipice. 


To  crave  my  Parents  Blessing  I 
This  journe  take  :  yet  first  to  thy 
Dear  Benediction  must  I  sue 
To  bless  their  Blessing  into  true 
And  full  effect :  least  in  the  breath 
Which  gives  it  life,  it  findes  its  death. 
Great  King  of  Bliss  !  in  that  sweet  soveraintie 
Of  thine,  O  may  poor  I  a  Subject  be. 

3 
So  shall  I  gain  brave  strength  to  stretch 
Through  that  laborious  journe,  which 
I  going  am  ;  (&  needs  must  go) 
Ev'n  whilst  I  stay  at  home ;  for  to 
The  unknown  Land  of  Death  am  I 
Hurried  by  Sinn  &  Destiny. 
Vain  hopes  of  Rest,  adieu  :  my  birth  I  scorn 
To  cross,  since  I  a  Traveller  am  born. 
398 


The   Winter-Spring 

May  1 8. 

OHOW  the  Worlds  Amazement  now  doth  stare 
Upon  this  contradiction  of  the  Year ; 
Whilst  frowning  Januaries  frost 
Doth  smileing  Maja's  beauties  blast ; 
Whilst  Winter  his  chaste  bounds  forgets 
And  on  the  virgin  Spring  a  rape  committs. 


Poor  ravishd  Spring  !  how  every  Leaf  confesses 
The  violence  done  to  her  goodly  tresses  ! 
Her  woefull  head  how  sadly  She 
Hangs  down  in  every  floure  !     No  tree, 
No  feild,  no  gardin,  where  she  went 
But  doth  her  piteous  injury  lament. 


Mark  well,  my  Heart,  too  plainly  painted  heer 
An  embleme  of  thy  self  in  this  sad  Year  : 
The  raies  of  Righteousnesses  Sun 
By  gracious  neerness  had  begun. 
With  vernal  beauties  thee  to  grace, 
And  heavns  sweet  dew  had  washd  &  cheerd  thy  face. 

399 


4-00     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 


But  blasted  now  by  Indevotions  cold 

Thy  yeauthfull  Spring  turns  withered  &  old ; 

The  bedds  where  thy  fair  floures  did  grow, 
Alas  are  but  their  death-bedds  now : 
Nipp'd  in  their  budd  thy  firstfruits  are ; 
And  thou  canst  onely  say,  Such  Sweets  grew  heer. 

5 

And  has  some  sudden  anger  snatch d  away 
My  courteous  Sun  ?     O  no,  thyself  didst  stray 

From  thine  own  Bliss :  He,  constant  He 

Desires  not  retrograde  to  be. 

It  is  not  this,  but  th'  other  Sunn 
Who  of  himself  doth  back  to  Winter  run. 


The   Gentle   Check 


o 


May  19. 

NE  half  of  me  was  up  &:  drest, 
The  other  still  in  lazy  rest ; 
For  yet  my  prayers  I  had  not  sayd ; 
When  I  close  at  her  Mattens  heard 
A  dainty-tongued  Bird, 
Who  little  thought  how  she  did  me  upbrayd. 


But  Guilt  caught  hold  of  every  Note, 
And  through  my  breast  the  anthem  shott : 
My  breast  heard  more  than  did  my  ear, 
For  now  the  tune  grew  sharp  &  chode 
Me  into  thoughts  of  God, 
To  whome  most  due  my  earlyer  Accents  were. 


How  shall  I  blush  enough  to  see 
Poor  Birds  prevent  my  praise  to  thee  ! 
Dear  Lord  my  Muse  for  pardon  pants, 
And  every  Tardy  guilty  Tone 

Doth  languish  to  a  Grone : 
Alas  to  day  she  sings  not,  but  recants. 

401  2  D 


402     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 


Forgive,  forgive  my  lazie  Rhyme 
Which  in  its  musik  keeps  not  time. 
Yf  thy  sweet  Patience  lets  me  borrow 
Another  Morn  of  Life,  I  give 

My  promise  heer  to  strive 
Before  the  Lark  to  be  at  heavn  to  morrow. 


T 


The  Sentinel 

To  my  Friend. 

May  20. 

HANKS  sweetest  friend,  who  deckest  me 
In  shewing  me  mine  own  Deformitie. 
Alas,  the  eys  ev'n  of  my  Minde 
Though  plac'd  within,  to  things  within  are  blinde ; 

And,  like  those  of  my  Body,  on 
Externals  spend  their  gazing  selvs  alone. 

Ay  me,  who  thus  become 
Abroad  quicksighted,  but  stark  blinde  at  home. 


My  faithfull  eyes  are  those  whereby 
The  darkest  bottom  of  my  self  I  spy. 

What  fools  were  Poets,  who  could  finde 
No  way  but  to  conclude  that  Love  is  blinde  ! 

He  who  himself  would  right  discover, 
The  eys  must  borrow  of  a  trusty  Lover ; 

Eys  whence  indeed  those  darts 
Of  piercing  fire  flash  forth  which  serch  through  hearts. 

3 

Dear  Spie  of  me,  thanks  thanks  again 
For  this  discovery ;  now  me  thinks  'tis  plain 

403 


404     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

How  ougly  I  did  muffled  go 
In  Melancholies  veil.     I  know  no  Foe 

Whom  more  I  hate  than  that  black  Witch, 
Yet  much  I  love  her  too  :  Alas  in  such 

A  snarled  maze  I  move 
That  heer  I  love  my  hate,  &  hate  my  love. 


Inestimable  Sentinel, 
Upon  thy  loving  guard  oh  stand  thou  still : 

Give  the  alarm  whenever  thou 
These  clowds  discoverest  gathering  on  my  brow ; 

And  help  me  in  the  charge,  that  I 
May  conquer  by  thy  cheerfull  bravery. 

This  way,  my  better  Heart, 
Be  thou  my  Second,  though  my  Self  thou  art. 


The  Farm 

May  21. 

TENANT  at  will  indeed  lam;  &  yet 
Wish  for  no  Lease  of  this  my  life,  since  I 
Under  so  good  a  Lord  do  live,  &  sitt 
At  rent  allmost  as  low  as  He  is  high  : 

The  greatest  summ  that  He  expects  from  me 
Is  that  which  nothing  costs,  Humilitie. 


Humility,  with  Homage,  Fealty,  and 

Some  easy  Services  ;  for  mighty  He, 

Least  I  should  shrink,  lays  to  his  own  kinde  hand 

And  helps  me  to  obey  himself,     oh  free 

And  gentle  Lord,  who  to  his  Tenant  gives, 
Aforehand,  all  the  Rent  that  he  receives  ! 


As  for  the  Farms  increase,  though  I  improve 
It  to  a  thousand  fold,  yet  still  I  pay 
No  more  to  Him,  but  only  more  of  love : 
And  what  gains  heavns  great  King,  yf  Dust  &  Clay 
Heap  his  affections  on  him  !     Thus,  in  fine 
The  Farm's  Rent's  his,  but  all  the  Profits  mine. 
405 


406     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 


Besides,  to  keep  my  house  in  good  repair, 
With  all  Materials  He  doth  me  supply. 
Yf  to  decay  it  falleth,  I  must  bear 
The  blame  alone  :  yea  when  Mortality 

Shall  tumble't  into  dust,  that  Ruine  from 
My  Fall  &  first  offence,  at  last,  will  come. 


But  now  to  leave  so  good  a  Farm,  can  I 
Contented  be  ?     oh  yes  I  can,  whene'r 
My  Lord  shall  please  to  turn  me  out,  since  by 
His  boundless  Love  eternal  Mansions  are 

Prepar'd  above,     of  short-termd  Tenants  heer 
Who  would  not  chuse  to  be  Freeholders  there  ? 


News 

May  22. 

WHAT  haste,  fond  Jock  !    Nay  thou  shalt  longer  stay, 
Bycause  thou  thirstest  thus  to  snatch 
The  first  buzz  of  the  News,  &  catch 
Thou  knowst  not  what :  The  Story  may 
Be  sad,  &  punish  greedy  thee ; 
What  harm  then  in  deferring  Miserie ! 


Stay  but  a  while,  &  thou  the  News  shalt  see 

Come,  uninvited,  to  thy  door, 

And  honester  that  'twas  before  : 

That  Paint  &  lying  Braverie 

Which  makes  her  young  wilde  face  so  gay, 
Will  by  truth-cleering  Time  be  washt  away. 


Fear  not  Delay ;  the  News,  though  tardy,  yet 
Can  be  her  self  to  Thee,  one  day, 
Or  twenty  hence  :  That  which  doth  slay 
Her  slight  life,  is  not  Absence,  but 
Presence  alone  :  the  News  is  new 

When  first  she  comes  (though  then  she  dyes)  in  view. 
407 


408     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 


But  hark,  my  Heart,  the  happiest  News  to  thee 
Will  be  to  finde  it  truely  in 
Thy  self :  Is  that  old  Man  of  Sin 
Banishd  &  gone,  &  canst  thou  see 
New  holy  youth  bud  in  thy  breast  ? 

This  is  the  only  News  can  make  thee  blest. 


If  after  other  News  thou  lingerest  still, 

Look  out,  &  see  where  thou  canst  spy 
Devotion,  Meeknes,  Loyalty, 
Peace,  Justice,  &  sinceer  good-will : 
Judge  truly,  &  thou  canst  not  chuse 

But  grant  these  old  things  are  the  greatest  News. 


The  Due/1 


May  23. 

SAD  fruit  of  misapplyed  Valour  !     Here 
Lies  Shandoys  wounded,  &  there  Compton  slayn. 
O  goodly  gain 
Of  gallant  Duells  !  are 
Not  Wounds  &  Death  fine  things,  when  they  are  bought 
Humor  and  private  Grudge  to  garnish  out? 


Surely  there  is  another  kinde  of  Duell 
As  hardy,  smart  &  generously  brave, 

Though  not  so  cruel : 
A  Duell  which  will  save 
One  of  the  Champions  from  the  miseries 
Of  Wounds  &  Death,  though  in  the  fight  he  dies. 


Yea  &  so  lawfull  'tis,  that  never  Laws 
Were  kept,  but  by  this  Duells  good  success. 
Nor  is  it  less 
Strange  in  the  Lists  it  draws, 
For  though  this  fight  through  all  the  world  be  fought, 
The  feild  is  pitcht  within  &  not  without. 
409 


4i o     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 


The  Duellers  are  none  but  onely  I 
Or  onely  You  j  for  I  &  You,  alone 

Are  more  than  One. 
In  every  heart  do  ly 
Two  active  Parties,  Flesh  &  Spirit,  whose 
Immortal  hate  makes  them  most  mortal  foes. 


5 

How  strangely  solemne's  this  Incounter !  where 
God,  Men,  &  Angels,  all  Spectators  be ; 
Where  Victorje 
Doth  no  less  prize  conferr 
Than  Heavn  or  Hell :  Where  the  fights  consummation 
On  this  side's  Death,  on  that  Mortification. 


Since  then  no  Quarter  heer  can  given  be, 
Courage,  my  Spirit,  as  thou  lovst  thy  life. 

On  this  short  strife 
Depends  eternitie 
Of  rest  &  peace,  &  how  how  canst  thou  merit 
Yf  thou  in  courage  faylst,  thy  name  of  Spirit  ? 


N 


The  World 

May  24. 

AY  now  I'm  sure  my  judgement's  sound, 
Since  ripe  experience  is  its  ground. 
Why,  I  my  self  have  felt  &  seen 

Thy  tedious  Vanity ; 
Fond  shameless  World,  &  canst  thou  ween 
I -will  for  thee  ev'n  common  sense  deny? 


Thou  wear'st  a  beauteous  skin,  I  grant ; 
And  do  the  deadly  Serpents  want 
Those  dangerous  hypocrisies  ? 
Or  is  the  Poisons  soule 
Less  its  curs'd  self,  bycause  it  lies 
In  the  brave  ambush  of  a  golden  boule  ? 


When  Israels,  &  Wisdomes,  King 
Did  stoutly  to  the  touchstone  bring 
Thy  fairest  Peeces,  did  not  they 

Prove  base-bred  counterfets ; 
Whose  stamp  though  neat,  &  colour  gay, 
Their  purest  ore  was  but  refined  Cheats. 
411 


412     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

4 

And  oh  that  I  had  been  content 

To  rest  on  his  Experiment ! 

But  since  I  at  the  cost  have  been 

By  thee  deceivd  to  be, 
Tis  not  another  World  could  win 
My  heart  to  dote  :  or  trust  on  empty  thee. 


Go  fawn  on  those  whose  frothy  minde 
Can  solace  in  a  bubble  finde, 
And  Juno  in  a  Clowd  imbrace ; 
Who  by  the  lying  Paint 
Which  smiles  upon  their  Idols  face 
Doubt  not  to  count  the  beauties  of  their  Saint. 


And  yet  thy  Paint's  so  silly  too, 

It  can  no  warey  Lover  woo. 

Indeed  good  Shaddows  sprucely  show 

But  where  the  Picture  is 
Nothing  besides,  (and  such  art  thou) 
It  proves  but  artificial  Ouglines. 


N 


The  Servant 

May  25. 

OW  on  my  Conscience  thou  art  right 
My  Heart,  who  tellst  me,  I 
This  morning  full  as  justly  might 
Have  let  my  anger  fly 
At  my  forgetfull  sin  full  self,  as  at 
My  Servant  who  my  strait  Command  forgot. 


I  have  a  Master  too  :  nor  is 

My  Servant  bound  to  my 

Commands,  so  much  as  I  to  His 

In  whose  great  family 

Were  I  not  entertained  I  could  not  live ; 

'Tis  He,  who  to  myself  myself  doth  give. 


Ah  patient  Master  of  bold  Me, 

How  oft  hast  thou  renued 
Thy  soft  Commands,  &  ernestlie 
My  fugitive  heart  persued ; 
Yea,  and  (what  I  could  hardly  stoop  to  do) 
Vouchafd  thy  Slaves  obedience  to  woo ! 
4i3 


414     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

4 

How  gross  in  my  Injustice,  who 

Could  not  this  fault  digest 
From  mine  own  Servant,  yet  can  so 
Gentle  a  Lord  resist ! 
And  now  could  I  for  shame  expect  that  he 
When  I  disloyal  am,  should  faithfull  be ! 


O  teach  me  holy  policie, 

Great  Lord,  &  never  let 
Me  copies  of  disloyaltie 

To  my  own  Servants  set. 
Subdue  my  stubborn  Will,  for  then  I  shall 
Best  have  it,  when  I  have  it  not  at  all. 


Game 

May  26. 


N 


OT  from  the  stern 
Portch  did  I  lern 
This  Lesson,  but  from  civil  Reasons  Temple : 

Nor  can  thy  fine  example 
Outbrave  my  sober  grounds,  or  prove  that  I 
A  Heretik  am  in  Gentility. 


I  needs  must  tell 
Thee,  Gallant,  still 
Thy  hounds  &  hawks  I  never  yet  could  see 

Catch  such  delight  to  me, 
As  oft  is  caught  by  these  two  fingers  when 
After  a  flea  in  hott  persute  they  runn. 


Dost  thou  not  know 
It  is  not  Thou 
That  hawk'st  &  huntest,  but  thy  hound  &  hawk  ? 

And  dost  not  blush  to  talk 
Of  generous  Sport,  when  thou  their  Lord,  at  least 
Art  the  Attendant  on  thy  Bird  and  Beast ! 
415 


4i 6     Poems  of  Joseph   Beaumont 


4 

Nay  more  than  so, 
Their  Vassal  too 
Thou  art,  &  whether  thorough  fair  or  foule 

Thy  most  inslaved  Soule 
Is  glad  to  thrust  thee,  yf  they  lead  the  way  : 
Are  these  the  paths  to  manly  noble  Joy  ? 

5 
The  Griffen,  or 
The  Tygre,  farr 
Outvie  such  Joys,  when  they  without  the  aid 
Of  hawk  or  hound  have  preyd 
Upon  their  game,  &  needed  not,  like  thee, 
For  their  wilde  pastimes  borrowers  to  be. 

6 

Is  it  not  fine 
Delight  to  win 
This  rare  applause  when  thou  in  weary  sweat 

Dost  from  thy  sport  retreat : 
Behold,  the  Man,  6°  hawks  &*  hounds  are  come 
Ev'n  with  a  conquer d  hare  or  partridge  home. 


Then,  yf  you  will, 
Bate  the  mad  hell 
Of  oathes  which  haunts  this  trade  :  yet  can  I  not 

Be  charmd  to  toile  in  what 
Pretendeth  not  to  yeild  me  other  gains 
Then  onely  this,  My  Labour  for  my  Pains. 

8 

That  Sport  is  known 
Best  to  thine  own 
Huntsmen  &  falkners  ;  yet  will  never  they 
Unless  by  ample  Pay 


Game 

Be  charmd  to  follow  it :  'tis  not  the  Game, 
No,  'tis  thy  Money  which  delighteth  them. 


But  noblest  things, 
Princes  &  Kings 
Are  of  these  Games  the  granted  Soverains  too 

And  what  yf  I  have  no 
Ambition  to  play  like  them  ?  though  they 
Perhaps  seek  nothing  less  in  Sports  than  Play. 

10 

Yet  please  thy  will 
And  play  thy  fill ; 
But  tie  not  me  to  this  thy  Loosnes,  who 

Perchance  know  what  to  do. 
What  yf  I  rather  list  to  hunt,  as  high 
As  Nimrod  in  the  feilds  of  History  ? 

ii 

What  yf  I  take 
Delight  to  make 
My  Contemplations  resolute  wings  outstretch 

Thy  hawks  sublimest  reach  ? 
On,  on,  for  me  :  yf  I  above  it  am, 
Let  me  alone,  I  shall  not  spoil  thy  game. 


417 


2  E 


Ascension 


May  27. 


A  FEAST,  &  yet  the  very  Day 
Our  Bridegrome  bear  our  Joys  away  ? 
Besides,  the  Comforter,  who  might 

Supply  us  with  Delight, 
Is  ten  days  off,  &  may  not  we 
Now  fast  by  sad  authority  ? 


O  no  !  this  happy  day  must  be 
The  holy  Feast  of  Sympathie  : 
'Tis  to  his  Coronation 

Our  head  to  day  is  gone ; 
Our  reign  commenceth  heer,  &  we 
Begin  this  morning  Kings  to  be. 


Heavns  Kingdome  now  is  open  sett  : 
And  yf  we  will  not  frustrate  it, 
Our  Heads  is  our  Ascension  too  ; 

And  though  wee'r  left  below, 
In  Him  to  Us  is  truely  given 
Livery  &  seisin  of  all  heaven. 
418 


Ascension  419 


Then  take  we  state  upon  us  now, 
Disdaining  all  that  is  below 
Our  royaltie  :  our  sphears  above 

And  there,  there  let  us  move. 
For  what  have  they  to  do,  who  dwell 
In  heavn  with  earth,  much  more  with  hell ! 


T 


Friends 


May  28. 

'HY  Friends  !     Nay  spare  the  plural  there  ; 
Such  things  as  Friends  are  singular  : 
Thou  of  thy  Phoenixes  as  well 
Mayst  tell 
Thy  tale,  &  be  belev'd  as  soon 
That  thou  hast  many  of  what  scarce  is  one. 


Shines  thy  Sun  fair  ?  that  gorgeous  light 
To  shew  a  Freind  is  too  too  bright  : 
The  day  with  gloomy  shades  opprest 

Will  best 
Discover  Him,  whose  Worth  by  none 
But  its  own  glorious  rays  is  seen  alone. 


Alas  thy  fawning  Courtiers  be 
Friends  of  thy  Fortune,  not  of  Thee  : 
Let  her  but  frown,  &  they  will  do 

So  too. 
Be  warey  then,  &  just  as  farr 
Rely  on  Them,  as  Thou  canst  trust  to  Her. 
420 


Friends  421 


4 

But  hast  thou  met  a  faithfull  Heart  ? 
In  spight  of  Fortune  blest  thou  art. 
Write  others  down  Acquaintance,  but  yet 

Admit 
Sole  him  into  thy  Friends  dear  Roll ; 
Them  in  thine  arms  imbrace,  Him  in  thy  Soule. 

5 

For  who  is  thy  souls  Spouse  but  He  ? 
O  then  with  him  contented  be. 
Let  chastity  thy  love  commend 

And  lend 
No  ear  to  wanton  Syrens,  who 
Would  thee  to  breach  of  Friendships  wedlock  woo. 


The  Bankrupt 

May  29. 

DESPISE  him  not,  though  he 
A  Bankrupt  be : 
To  peeces  broke  he  is  indeed, 
Yet  not  to  nothing.     Do  not  tread 
Those  fragments  into  dust,  with  which 
He  hopes  a  Composition  to  reach. 


Thy  Break  is  greater  farr 
Than  his,  nor  are 
Thy  means  sufficient  to  Compound 
With  thy  great  Creditor  :  look  round 
About  thy  Nothing  now,  &  say 
What  thou  hast  left  thy  debts  to  God  to  pay. 


Wouldst  thou  thy  Body  yeild 
To  prison  ?  build 
No  hopes  on  that  sad  plott  j  alas 
The  law  on  thee  must  further  pass  : 
Thy  Soul  is  allso  forfeit,  and 
Th'  eternal  Jayl  for  both  doth  open  stand. 
422 


The  Bankrupt  423 


Cheat  not  thyself,  nor  say 
I'l  run  away. 
What  world  from  Gods  arrest  can  hide 
His  vainly-fugitive  Worm  ?  beside, 
No  friend  on  earth  can  ever  be 
A  Surety  or  sufficient  Bayl  for  thee. 


No  way  away  to  run 

Hast  thou  but  one  : 
FORGIVING'S  thy  sole  way  to  woo 
Thy  Creditor  the  like  to  do. 
Nay  He'l  outdo  thee  heer,  for  He 
For  pardning  part,  will  all  remitt  to  thee. 


Detraction 


May  30. 

THINKST  thou  to  scape  this  Monsters  teeth  ? 
Then  hope  to  fly  the  jaws  of  Death  : 
Nay,  things  whose  pitch 
Is  fan  above  the  reach 
Of  any  Death,  are  yet  assaulted  by 
Detractions  most  unbounded  Cruelty. 


How  oft  has  Blasphemies  black  Tongue 
At  God  him  self  her  venome  flung  ? 

And  wouldst  thou  fare 
Better  than  things  which  are 
The  Best  of  all  ?     faint  fool,  that  cannot  be 
Wherein  thy  God's  a  Sharer,  Miserie. 


'Tis  rank  Repugnancy  at  which 
Thy  fond  ambition  doth  reach  : 

Canst  thou  tell  how 
Like  every  one  to  grow  ? 
Unless  thou  canst,  thou  must  contented  be 
To  let  those  things  which  differ,  disagree. 
424 


Detraction  425 


To  win  the  Proud  Mans  praise,  canst  thou 
Plant  insolence  on  thine  own  brow ; 
Yet  still,  to  reap 
Fame  with  the  Sordid,  creep 
Beneath  fair  Ingenuity  ?     oh  no  ! 
What  creature  e'r  was  Worm  &  Eagle  too  ? 

5 

Since  then  Detraction  must  at  thee 
Be  snarling,  on  necessitie  ; 

In  the  com  pleat 
Armour  of  Virtue  meet 
Thy  peevish  Foe,  who  then,  the  more  she  bite, 
The  more  she'l  break  her  teeth,  &  knaw  her  spight. 


Virtue 


May  31. 

VIRTUE  !  why  first  she  brings  not  in 
Such  gains,  as  gallant  Sin. 
Has  not  his  squeamish  conscience  quite 

Beggerd  your  Loyal  Wight  ? 
Whilst  the  brave  Rebell  reigns  upon 
Your  royal  Martyrs  throne. 


And  then,  she's  not  gentile,     pray  shew 

Me  in  the  list  of  new 
Sheer  Fashions  so  much  as  but 

The  name  of  Virtue  put. 
And  must  we  plod  in  the  plain  rode 

Of  our  stale  Grandsires  Mode  ? 


Besides,  She's  baseborn,  &  below 
A  Gentleman  :  for  how 

Can  she  pretend  to  Gallantry 

Who  cannot  be,  yf  high  ? 

What  Exc'llance  can  in  her  be  seen, 
Whose  essence  is  the  Mean  ? 
426 


Virtue  427 


Lastly,  wherever  she  doth  come 
She's  viley  troublesome ; 

Putting  her  deerest  Friends  to  great 
Expence  of  pains  &  sweat. 

Troth  let  her  go  for  me :  a  guest 

Like  her,  when  gone  is  best. 

5 

Thus  dreams  the  Fool  what  pleases  him, 
And  thus  talks  in  his  dream. 

And  let  him  talk  :  deer  Virtue,  he 
By  blaming  praiseth  thee. 

Wise  eyes  would  strait  suspect  thy  rays 
Should  Fools  thy  Lustre  praise. 


Thrift 


June  i.  1652. 

SAY  not,  Tis  base  to  spare, 
Unless  thou  knew'st  what  spare- 
ing  were. 
Hadst  that  been  thy  forefather's  minde 
More  reason  thou  wouldst  finde 
To  rayle  on  Spending  :  but  thy  scorn  thou  now 
On  thine  own  Prides  Foundation  doth  throw. 


Is't  base?  bold  Prodigal, 
Know'st  thou  whom  heer  thou  dost  miscall  ? 
Dares  thy  contemptuous  Censure  fling 
Basenes  on  Bounties  King? 
He,  noblest  He,  his  own  miraculous  Gift 
Was  not  ashamed  to  seal  up  with  Thrift. 


When  he  had  thousands  fed, 
He  set  on  every  bit  of  bread 
His  saving  care  :     Let  nothing  be 
Squanderd  &  lost,  sayd  He, 
But  up  with  every  crumb :  yea  though  his  word 
To  all  the  World  a  banquet  could  afford. 
428 


Thrift  429 


Will  thy  estate  hold  out 
As  well  as  his,  that  thou  shouldst  flout 
The  thought  of  Sparing  ?     or  wouldst  thou 
More  generousnes  show 
Than  God  himself?     Ah  fool,  yf  thou  wouldst  be 
Noble  indeed,  thy  Copy  must  be  He. 

5 

'Tis  thine  who  findst  the  fault 
With  Thrift ;  for  Thrift  is  Bounties  Salt, 
Which  from  corrupting  keeps  it  free, 
And  makst  it  lasting  be. 
Belev't,  he  best  knows  how  to  spend  (whate'r 
Thy  fancy  weens,)  who  best  knows  how  to  spare. 


Avarice 


A 


June  2. 

ND  truly  yesterday 

I  did  suspect  as  much  :  away 
Foule  misgotten  Elf, 
Thou  cheat'st  thy  silly  self 
In  thinking  I  had  any  drift 
To  favor  thee  by  praising  Thrift. 


Hence  odious  Avarice, 
Thou  mad  &  self-revenging  Vice, 
Who  dost  no  toyl  refuse 
For  that  thou  dar'st  not  use. 
Thrift  onely  gathers,  Thou  dost  scrape, 
She  to  injoy,  Thou  but  to  keep. 


Thou  Jayler  art,  but  She 
The  Steward  of  her  gold  :  with  thee 
It  rusts,  with  her  it  shines 
Nor  do  its  deepest  Mines 
Smother  &  lock  it  up  so  fast 
As  the  vast  gulph  of  thy  dark  chest. 
43o 


Avarice  431 


For  that  dark  chest  of  thine 
No  pioner  must  hope  to  mine, 
Since  thy  Necessitie 
Cannot  sufficient  be 
To  digg  thy  treasure  thence ;  so  deep 
Thou,  to  thy  loss,  thy  gains  dost  keep. 


Less  doth  the  Thunders  crack 
Than  news  of  petty  Charges,  wake 

Thy  wretched  fears  ;  &  though 
All  thy  religion's  how 
The  best  of  money  to  possess, 
Thy  Money  never  current  is. 


Some  Beast  or  other  is 
The  embleme  of  each  other  Vice  : 

But  never  Brute  was  yet 

So  brutish  as  to  get 
The  world  a  copie  of  foule  Thee : 
Midst  Monsters,  thou  must  Monster  be. 


Honor 


June  3. 

AMBITIOUS  Sir,  take  heed  ; 
For  thou  on  Glass  dost  tread. 
No  Glass  more  beautifull  &  cleer 
Than  all  the  paths  of  Honor  are ; 
No  Glass  more  slippery  can  be 
Or  brittle,  than  deceitfull  She. 


Ambitious  Sir  take  heed, 
Thou  trustest  to  a  Reed. 
No  Reed's  more  tost  &  scorned  by 
All  Windes,  than  Honors  bravery  : 
No  Reed  will  wound  more  deeply  Thee 
Who  leanst  on  it,  than  treacherous  She. 


Ambitious  Sir  take  heed ; 

Thou  rid'st  a  dangerous  Steed. 
No  Steed  his  crest  doth  more  advance, 
Or  proudlyer  than  Honor  prance  : 
No  Steed  did  e'r  so  desperatlie 
Stumble,  as  most  uncertain  She. 

432 


Honor 


Ambitious  Sir,  take  heed ; 

Thou  dost  on  Poison  feed. 
No  Poison  in  a  goodlyer  cup 
Than  that  of  Honor's  served  up  : 
No  Poison  e'r  made  drinker  be 
More  swollen,  than  doth  banefull  She. 


Ambitious  Sir  take  heed ; 

And  in  brave  Haman  read 
A  wholesome  Lesson  :  who  but  He 
Honor's  own  Darling  was  !     Yet  see 
His  ruines  monstrous  mockery, 
Who  fell  full  fifty  cubits  high. 


433 


2   F 


Physik 

June  4.  1652. 

STRAIT  for  ye  Doctor  send  : 
That's  thy  first  word,  &  hastiest 
care; 
When  some  Disease,  or  but  ye  fear 
Of  it,  hath  made  thee  sick.     And  I  commend 

Thy  diligence,  provided  thou 
What  thou  allow'st  thy  self  wilt  but  thyself  allow. 


Thy  Minde's  as  much  &  more 
Thyself,  than  is  thy  Body :  be 
Impartial  then,  &  equalie 

At  least  dispense  thy  providences  store ; 
Especaly  since  thou  mayst  finde 

More  than  a  Spittle  of  Diseases  in  thy  Minde. 


The  Aigue  of  cold  Fear 
Doth  nip  thee  up ;  or  Lusts  dogdays 
A  burning  Fever  in  the  rayse. 

The  Boulimie  of  Avarice  doth  tear 

Thy  restless  ever-hungry  heart, 

Or  thou  in  Prodagalities  Consumption  art. 

434 


Physik 


435 


Pride's  dangerous  Tympanie 
Thee  to  a  monstrous  bulk  doth  swell ; 
Or  Drunkenesses  Dropsie  fill 

But  not  suffice  thee  :  Curiositie 

With  a  wilde  Itch  doth  hant  thee,  or 

The  Gout  of  Lazines  make  thee  unfitt  to  stirr. 

5 

Ah  most  diseased  thing  ! 
And  darst  thou  still  forbear  to  fly 
To  Physiks  Sanctuary  ?     Why, 

Since  Fear  of  Dying  thee  so  deep  doth  sting, 
Drawst  thou  securely  thy  short  breath, 

Who  ly'st  just  at  the  point  of  everlasting  Death  ? 


Selfi, 


ove 

June  5. 

TO  Love  thy  neighbour  as  thy  self,  will  prove 
The  Summ  of  Virtue  ;  yet  Selflove 
The  total  is  of  Vice. 
Unhappy  riddle  this, 
That  thine  own  Rule  should  perfect  be 
To  all  the  World  besides,  but  not  to  thee. 


When  self-conceited  Lucifer  so  high 

Did  soar  on  wings  of  Philauty, 
The  foolish  Gallant  fell 
As  low  as  lowest  hell. 
Corrupted  Good's  the  worst  of  Evil : 
As  God  is  Love  himself,  Selflove's  a  Devil. 


No  Hate's  so  dangerous  as  Selflove,  by  which 
We  ask  our  own  selvs  to  death  bewitch. 
Ask  but  Narcissus  what 
Inchanted  him  to  that 
Dainty,  but  deadly  fate,  &  He 
Will  answer,  'Twas  Selflove  which  drowned  Me, 

436 


Selflove  437 


4 

Do's  not  thy  sober  indignation  rise 

Against  false-hearted  Flatteries 
Which  only  tickle  thee 
Into  a  Fallacie? 
How  dar'st  thou  then  take  such  delight 
In  being  thine  own  constant  Parasite  ? 


Would'st  love  thyself  indeed  ?   come  then  &  throw 
Thy  hate  at  what  thou  lovest  now. 
Tis  not  thy  Self,  but  thy 
Passions  &  Lusts  which  ly 
In  thy  loves  arms ;  all  other  Foes 
God  bids  thee  love,  I  grant,  but  never  those. 


Thy  Soule's  thy  Self,  &  what  thy  God  did  make ; 
Not  what  thy  Sinns :  Mend  that  Mistake, 
And  then  Selflove  will  be 
Ev'n  Virtues  self  to  thee. 
Thy  riddle  then  will  cease,  and  thou 
By  Self-loves  rule  mayst  charity  bestow. 


Pentecost 


o 


June  6. 

SEASONABLE  Feast  I 
Never  had  We 
More  need  of  Thee  : 
So  low  these  woefull  Times  had  prest 
Our  heavy  hearts,  none  but  the  Comforter 
Himself,  could  our  dark  clowds  of  Sorrow  cleer. 


'Tis  well  he  comes  from  heaven 
For  our  poor  earth 
Cannot  put  forth 
One  sprout  or  bud  of  Comfort ;  even 
Our  Joys  lament,  whilst  a  new  Sea  doth  now 
(Woes  stormy  Sea)  about  our  Britain  flow. 


How  sudden  &  how  strange 
A  Legion  We 
Of  Spirits  see, 
Which  all  about  securely  range ! 
How  desperately  are  wretched  we  possest : 
And  who  but  thou  can  be  our  Exorcist  ? 
438 


Pentecost  439 


Thou,  mighty  Spirit,  who 
Confusion  from 
The  Worlds  first  wombe 
Didst  sweetly  chase  :  Our  Waves  of  Woe 
Now  crave  thy  ayd ;  oh  gently  move  on  them, 
And  Britains  Chaos  into  order  tame  ! 


B 


Witt 


June  7. 

UT  who  has  Witt  enough  to  tell 
Me  what  it  is  ? 
Thou  mayst  as  well 
Hope  Proteus's  visage  to  express 
As  her  wilde  face,  since  dubious  she 
Truly  to  be  herself,  any  thing  els  must  be. 


Now  old,  now  young  again ;  now  low, 
And  now  as  high  ; 
Now  corsive,  now 

Gratious  with  tickling  Lenity  ; 

Proud  Spanish  now,  now  smug  &  sleek 
French,  portly  Roman  now,  now  most  delicious  Greek. 


Sometimes  her  looser  garb  is  Prose, 
Sometimes  in  verse 
Straitlac'd  she  goes ; 
Now  she  as  low  as  hell  doth  curse, 
Now  swear  as  high  as  heavn  :  her  paint 
Shews  her  sometimes  a  Devil,  &  few  times  a  Saint. 
440 


Witt  441 


Well  is  she  tutord  how  to  rant, 

Drink,  drab,  &  play 
And  fear  no  want 

Though  more  then  all  she  casts  away. 

Me  thinks  tis  worth  the  while  to  see 
Whether  she  would  not  prove  too  chargable  for  me. 


Why  she  may  easly  spend  a  Man 
His  soule  &  all. 
Sure  yf  I  can 
Fl  save  that  charge :  Let  the  World  call 
Me  as  they  list :  whats  that  to  me  ? 
Tis  best,  and  I  had  rather  Wise  than  Witty  be. 


Entertainment 


June  8. 

WOULDST  know  what  entertainment  I  expect  ? 
Why,  nothing  but  Good  cheer. 
But,  prithee  let  not  this  reflect 
Thy  hospitable  care 
Upon  thy  Cellar  or  thy  Kitchin ;  I 
By  cupps  &  dishes  count  not  jollity. 


Not  from  thy  Cook  or  Butler,  but  from  thee 
I  for  my  wellcome  look : 
Which  will  be  best,  yf  thou  wilt  be 
Butler  thyself  &  Cook  : 
Let  mine  eys  drink  thy  cheerfull  countnance,  ne'r 
Shall  I  for  bright  &  brisque  Canary  care. 


A  Mess  of  Smiles  gentiley  garnishd  out 

With  spruce  Discourse,  will  be 
A  daintyer  Feast  then  ever  ought 
Its  quaint  nativitie 
To  the  most  learned  kitchin  ;  specaly 
When  hearty  Symptomes  bear  it  company. 
442 


Entertainment  443 


Into  the  bargain  would  thy  courtesy 

Content  the  Belly  too  ; 
Be  sure,  for  what's  but  by  the  by 

Thou  mak'st  not  most  adoe. 

In  thine  own  Sweetnes  I  the  banquet  place ; 

As  for  thy  Meat,  I  shall  but  count  it  Sauce. 


Riches 

June  9. 

OHAD  I  but  ten  thousand  pounds  a  year ! 
Fool,  thou  hast  more, 
Had'st  thou  that  Wish,  thy  Wealth  would  make  thee  swear 
That  thou  wert  poor ; 
And  so  thou  art  not  now,  who  hast 
Enough  to  spend :  wouldst  have  enough  to  waste  ? 


Alas  thou  canst  not ;  had  thou  all  the  Ore 

Both  Indies  breed 
Twould  quite  starve  Prodagalitie  ;  No  store 

Knows  how  to  feed 
The  gulf  of  that  strange  Monster,  whose 
Vast  stomach  by  abundance  greater  grows. 


My  Lord,  with  his  ten  thousand  pounds  a  year 

Doth  clee'rly  want 
Full  twice  ten  thousand  Things  which  thou  canst  spare 
His  means  is  scant, 
But  ample  thine,  for  'tis  confest 
That  he  the  richest  is,  who  needeth  least. 
444 


Riches  445 


Besides,  thou  knowest  not  the  charge  of  such 

A  large  estate  : 
Twill  spend  thee  all  thy  Rest,  &  cost  so  much 

Of  Quiet,  that 
No  honest  Beggar  thou  wilt  finde 
So  needy  in  Content,  as  thy  poor  Minde. 

5 

Thou  must  be  put  to  finde  so  many  Men 

And  Horses  for 
The  service  of  that  proud  Estate ;  and  then 

Maintain  the  Warr 
At  thine  own  charge ;  that  Warr  whereby 
Thou  must  defend  &  keep  thy  Credit  high. 


Selfcheated  Slave,  the  more  thy  Servants  are 
The  more  hast  thou 

Thyself  to  serve :  less  costly  is  the  care 
Which  they  bestow 
Than  thine ;  their  Services  sure  end 

Is  erning,  thine  doth  only  make  thee  spend. 


T 


The  Alarm 


June  10. 

WAS  fairly  done,  Mortalitie, 

To  give  a  warning  peece  before  the  fight. 
And  heer  my  Thanks  I  render  thee 
For  that  Alarm  thou  gavest  me  last  night. 
And  yet  thou  cunning  art,  who  by 
Weaknes  thy  strength  on  me  dost  try. 


By  this  light  skirmish  I  am  taught 
What  to  expect  when  thou  dost  charge  me  home. 

So  kindely  that  distemper  wrought 
Upon  my  heart,  that  she  hath  reaped  from 

My  bodies  sicknes,  such  a  crop 

Of  health,  as  cheers  her  into  hope. 


Into  fair  hope  that  I  shall  dare 
To  meet  thy  main  battalia,  &  quit 

The  vain  &  most  ignoble  fear 
Of  Deaths  assault ;  whom  I  desire  to  set 

Upon  me  in  the  open  feild, 

That  so  I  may  with  honor  yeild. 
446 


The  Alarm  44.7 


For  yeild  I  must,  &  will ;  nor  need 
Death  any  subtile  ambush  lay  for  me : 

I  have  no  plot  to  run,  &  lead 
That  fate  a  dance  which  cannot  shunned  be. 

Yet  by  Surrender,  might  I  choose, 

Not  by  Surprize,  my  Life  I'd  loose. 


S.   Barnabie 


June  1 1 . 


M 


ISTAKEN  Priest 

Thou  mightily  disparagest, 
With  those  thy  Oxen  &  thy  Garlands,  Him 

Whom  thou  to  deifie  dost  seem  : 
Thy  calculation's  still  too  low,  for  He 
Is  not  thy  Jupiter,  but  Barnabie. 


Yet  though  above 

Thy  stupidly-adored  Jove, 
(That  Jove  who  having  been  a  famous  Bull 

Himself,  for  kindreds  sake  might  well 
Be  to  his  cousen  Oxen  kinder  than 
To  have  them  sacrific'd,)  he's  still  a  Man  : 


A  Man  like  thee 
In  passionate  infirmitie. 
Which  though  thou  doubtest  now,  thoud'st  grant  too  true 

Shouldst  thou  that  Paraxysme  view 
Whose  storm  will  their  calm  Union  overbear 
And  Paul  &  Barnabie  in  sunder  tear. 
448 


S.   Barnabie  449 


Pluck  courage  then 
From  hence :  since  Saints  themselves  are  Men, 
Men  may  be  Saints,  &  humane  Passions  be 

Cohabitants  with  Sanctity. 
Prate  not,  proud  Stoik,  that  the  onely  high 
Way  to  heavns  Gate  through  Zeno's  Portch  doth  ly. 


2  G 


The   Gardin 

June  12. 

THE  Gardins  quit  with  me  :  as  yesterday 
I  walked  in  that,  to  day  that  walks  in  me 
Through  all  my  memorie 
It  sweetly  wanders,  &  has  found  a  way 
To  make  me  honestly  possess 
What  still  Anothers  is. 


Yet  this  Gains  dainty  sence  doth  gall  my  Minde 
With  the  remembrance  of  a  bitter  Loss. 

Alas,  how  odd  &  cross 
Are  earths  Delights,  in  which  the  Soule  can  finde 
No  Honey,  but  withall  some  Sting 

To  check  the  pleasing  thing ! 


For  now  I'm  hanted  with  the  thought  of  that 
Heavn-planted  Gardin,  where  felicitie 

Flourishd  on  every  Tree. 
Lost,  lost  it  is ;  for  at  the  guarded  gate 
A  flaming  Sword  forbiddeth  Sin 
(That's  I,)  to  enter  in. 
45o 


The  Gardin  451 


4 

O  Paradise !  when  I  was  turned  out 

Hadst  thou  but  kept  the  Serpent  still  within, 

My  banishment  had  been 
Less  sad  &  dangerous  :  but  round  about 

This  wide  world  runneth  rageing  He 

To  banish  me  from  me : 


I  feel  that  through  my  soule  he  death  hath  shott ; 
And  thou,  alas,  hast  locked  up  Lifes  Tree. 

O  Miserable  Me, 
What  help  were  left,  had  JESUS'S  Pity  not 
Shewd  me  another  Tree,  which  can 

Enliven  dying  Man. 


That  Tree,  made  Fertile  by  his  own  dear  blood ; 
And  by  his  Death  with  quickning  virtue  fraught. 

I  now  dread  not  the  thought 
Of  barracado'd  Eden,  since  as  good 
A  Paradise  I  planted  see 

On  open  Calvarie. 


Palmestrie 


June  13. 

ART  sure  th'ast  given  so  much  to  the  Poor  ? 
Was't  not  thy  meaning  to  bestow 
Part  on  thine  own  Vain-glory  ?     Never  score 

Up  that  on  Gods  account,  which  thou 
Spendst  on  the  Devil ;  nor  make  Charitie 
Hell  purveyor,  who  should  Heavns  steward  be. 


I'l  not  inquire  thorough  what  trumpets  throat 

Thou  spak'st  the  prologue  to  thy  Gift ; 

Nor  in  what  carefull  pomp  thou  gav'st  thy  groat ; 
Nor  what  a  hard  &  piteous  shift 

Thou  mad'st  to  let  Spectators  know  that  thou 

Didst  three  weeks  since  another  groat  bestow. 


Indeed  no  such  intelligence ;  for  I 

By  Palmestrie  can  read  it  plain  : 

Thy  right  hand  to  thy  left  did  it  descry, 

And  now  thy  left  tells  tales  again. 

What  canst  thou  answer,  who  dost  guilty  stand 

By  the  cleer  evidence  of  thine  own  hand  ? 

452 


p. 

i. 

r. 

2, 

p. 

3, 

p. 

4- 

p. 

c 
5> 

p. 

o, 

p. 

o, 

p. 

7, 

p. 

7, 

NOTES 


Suspirium.     Marked  P,  but  not  published  in  1749  edition, 
st.  4.   Changed  by  Gee  to  read  : 

Sometimes  I  feel  my  pregnant  eyes 
Oftimes  ivith  streams  of  sorrow  rise. 
st.  4,  line  2.  But,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
Reasonable  Melancholy.     Marked  P,  and  published  in   1749 
edition  with  omission  of  stanzas  2,  3,  4,  5,  6,  8,  9,  10. 
last  line.   Dittie,  changed  by  Gee  to  subject. 
line  3.   tempting,  changed  by  Gee  to  gallant. 
line  5.   time,  capitalized  by  Beaumont  in  marginal  correction, 
line  23.  Jesu's,  changed  by  Gee  to  that  bright. 
last  line,   skie,  corrected  by  Gee  from  skies,  an  obvious  slip. 
P.  8.   Death.      Marked  P,  and  published  in  1749  edition  with  omission 
of  stanzas  5,  6,  7,  9.      Stanza  3  marked  for  omission  by  Gee,  later 
insert  written  in  margin. 
P.  8,  st.  2,  line  7. 

Or  Sin  more  horrid  then  both  they.     Sure  none. 
Changed  by  Gee  to  read  : 

Or  sin  then  both  more  horrid.      Surely  ?ione. 
P.  9,  st.  5,  line  1.   And,  changed  by  Gee  to  But. 
P-  9>  st.  5,  line  3.   that,  changed  by  Gee  to  one. 
P.  14,  bottom.   The  reading  of  the  MS.  is  apparently  ye  hand,  but  the 

meaning  seems  to  require  yt  hand. 
P.  16,  title.   Maria,  sic  in  MS.     , 

P.  18.  Davids  Elegie  upon  Jonathan.     Published  in  1749  edition. 
P.  19.   Cantic.  Chap.  2.      Published  in  1749  edition. 
P.  20.  Thou  shalt  call  His  Name  Jesus.     Published  in  1749  edition. 
P.  20,  2nd  chorus,  line  I.  soveraine,  changed  by  Gee  to  fragrant. 
P.  26,  line  3.   was,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  is. 
P.  27,   st.   3,  line   I.   Is  it  not  f aire,  etc.,   changed  by  Gee  to  ZrV  not 

enough,  etc 
P.  29,  st.  1,  line  2.   my,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  the. 
P.  34,  st.  2,  line  2.   Second  /emended  by  Beaumont  from  &>. 
P.  38.  The  Waters  of  H.  Baptisme.    st.  3,  last  line.      Were  clean, 

etc.,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  would  cleanse,  etc. 
P.  39,  st.  1,  line  3.  Streams,  an  obvious  slip,  corrected  by  Gee  to  Stream. 

453 


454     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

P.  43,  last  St.,  line  2.   Pm,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  Who  am. 
P.  44,  line  1.   Original  reading  : 

If  so,  then  in  these  Copies  read: 
then  crossed  out  by  Beaumont. 
P.  44,  line  2.   salve,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  physick. 
P.  47,  st.  1,  last  line,   clothe,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  close. 
P.  49.   The  Little  Ones  Greatnes.     Marked  P,  but  not  published 

in  1749  edition. 
P.  49,  line  1.  Brave,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  49,  line  4.   Ample,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  Vast. 
P.  49,  st.  3,  line  1.   needeth,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  needs. 
P.  49,  st.  5,  line  1.   all,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  49,  st.  5,  line  2.   this,  changed  by  Gee  to  their. 
P.  50,  last  line.   Soft,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  60.   House  &  Home.      Published  in  1749  edition  with  title  Home. 
P.  60,  line  16.   to  fight,  changed  by  Gee  to  and  might. 
P.  61,  line  8.  Dwell  in  it,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  Inhabit  there. 
P.  61,  line  9.   Original  reading  : 

Heer  be  content  to  make  abode. 
Emended  to  present  reading  by  Beaumont ;  later,  changed  by  Gee  to  : 
Heer  content  make  thy  abode. 
P.  61,  line  14. 

The  Universes  Fabrick  fall. 
Emended  by  Beaumont  from  : 

The  Fabrick  ofye  World  should  fall. 
P.  61,  line  17.   Original  reading  : 

Let  all  war,  let  spight,  let  plunder  come. 
P.  61,  line  20.   Original  reading  : 

Who  to  thy  selfe  an  House  canst  be. 
P.  61,  line  22.   Lodging,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  Dwelling. 
P.  61,  line  24.   Original  reading  : 

Shall  to  an  House  re?noved  be. 
P.  61,  line  25.   eternall,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  everlasting. 
P.  61,  line  28.    Gallantly,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  Restored  6r*. 
P.  6 1 ,  line  29.   Mortall  Starrs  :  original  reading,  These  Mortall  Starrs. 
P.  61,  line  30.   Original  reading  :  In  that  new  Heavn,  etc. 
P.  62.  The  Candle.     Marked  P,  but  not  published  in  1749  edition. 
P.  62,  line  2.   wax,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  62,  st.  2,  line  2.   Is  Kindled  each  Mans,  etc.  :  original  reading,  Kindled 

is  Mans,  etc. 
P.  62,  st.  3,  line  2. 

How  tender  is  its  twinckling  Morne. 
Original  reading  : 

0  how  tender  is  its  Morne. 
P.  62,  st.  3,  line  3.    When,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  62,  st.  4,  line  2.  More  boistrous,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  Greater. 
P.  62,  st.  4,  lines  4,  5.   Original  reading  : 
Doth  begin 
From  within. 


Notes  455 


P.  62,  st.  4,  last  line,  slie,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  foule. 
P.  63,  line  1.  But  yet ',  emended  by  Beaumont  from  And. 
P.  63,  line  2.   Original  reading  : 

And y*  most  pernicious  Theefe. 
P.  63,  st.  2,  line  2.  sharps  inserted  by  Beaumont. 
P.  63,  st.  2,  line  6.  Right,  inserted  by  Beaumont. 
P.  63,  st.  5,  line  4.  False,  inserted  by  Beaumont. 
P.  63,  st.  6,  line  2.   Original  reading  : 

Faithfully  it  must  restore. 
P.  63,  st.  6,  lines  4,  5.  Original  reading : 
What  it  was 
Nothing  alas. 
P.  63,  st.  6,  line  6.   And  sallow,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  But  a  few. 
P.  64,  st.  1,  line  2.    That,  inserted  by  Beaumont. 
P.  64,  st.  2,  line  1.    Yet,  inserted  by  Beaumont. 
P.  64,  last  line.    Converts,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  Turnes. 
P.  68.   Melancholie.     Marked  P,  but  not  published  in  1749  edition. 
P.  68,  st.  4.   Marked  for  omission  by  Gee. 
P.  68,  last  St.,  line  I.  foule,  inserted  by  Beaumont. 
P.  76,  st.  3,  line  3.  young,  inserted  by  Beaumont. 
P.  77,  st.  1,  line  1.   twelve,  inserted  by  Beaumont. 
P.  78,  st.  5,  line  2.   Original  reading  : 

Not  behold  their  Miserie  .   .  . 
P.  78,  st.  6,  line  5.   Original  reading  : 

What  might  Pittie, 
might,  an  evident  slip,  corrected  by  Gee  to  mighty. 
P.  79,  st.  1,  line  1.  sad,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P-  79,  st-  3>  line  *«    Wild,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  79,  st.  5,  line  2.    Canno  wayes,  etc.      Original  reading  : 

Cannot  her  own  owner  be. 
P.  81,  st.  1.   From  this  point  onward  marked  by  Gee  for  omission. 
P.  81,  st.  1,  line  2.    Whose  beams,  changed  by  Gee  to  Which. 
P.  88.  The  Fashion.     Marked  P,  but  not  published  in  1 749  edition. 
P.  88,  line  2.   Colon  inserted  after  see  by  Gee. 
P.  88,  st.  2,  line  I.   But,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  88,  st.  2,  line  2.   Original  reading  : 

In  an  antik  Taylors  dreame. 
P.  88,  st.  4,  line  2.  Is  Nothing  else,  etc.     Original  reading  : 

Nothing  is  but  Variation. 
P.  89,  st.  2,  line  2.   All,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  89,  st.  3,  line  2.    Thus,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  89,  st.  4.   Marked  by  Gee  for  omission. 
P.   89,  st.  4,  line   1.     Original    reading   retained   though   emended    by 

Beaumont  to  :    Yt  We  could,  etc. 
P.  89,  st.  5,  line  2.   But,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  90,  st.  2,  line  2.  everie,  emended  by  Beaumont  from^y*. 
P.  92,  bottom.    Wound,  MS.  reading  Wounds,  an  evident  slip. 
P.  94,  line  4.   alone,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  103,  st.  5,  line  2.  In  the  MS.  there  is  a  comma  after  y*. 


456     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

P.  in,  st.  4,  line  4.   In  the  MS.  there  is  a  period  after  content. 

P.    122,    st.    2,    line    I.      Original    reading  :     Surely   this    is   a   capital 

Treason,  etc. 
P.  123,  st.  4,  line  2.   In  the  MS.  there  is  a  semicolon  after  /. 
P.  124,  st.  3,  line  5.  In  the  MS.  there  is  an  apostrophe  after  Penitence. 
P.  127.  Wishes.      Published  in  1749  edition. 
P.  127,  lines  13,  14.   Marked  for  omission  by  Gee. 
P.  128,  lines  19,  20.    Marked  for  omission  by  Gee. 
P.  128,  lines  29-36.    Marked  for  omission  by  Gee. 

P.  129,  line  II.    From  this  point  to  the  end  marked  for  omission  by  Gee. 
P.  133.   S.    Johan.   ad  Port.   Latin.     Marked  P,   and  published   in 

1749  edition. 
P.  133,  st.  2,  line  2.   Changed  by  Gee  to  :    Who  then  anoirist,  etc. 
P.  134.   SS.  Innocents  Day.     Marked  P,  and  published  in  1749  edition. 
P.  135.   Epiphanie  Oblation.     Published  in  1749  edition. 
P.  136,  line  10.   true,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  136,  line  11.  streams,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  136,  line  14.    Up,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  136,  line  19.   All,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  136,  line  20.   Most,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  137,  line  7.    There,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  137,  line  17.   black,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  137,  line  20. 

That  none  but  this  Authoritie. 

Original  reading : 

That  y*  same  Authoritie. 
P.  137,  line  28.   Poor,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  138,  line  24.  Strict,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  138,  line  35.   both,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  138,  line  36.   that  Priests,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  138,  line  38.   Both,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  138,  line  40.   Original  reading  : 

Then  y*  full  Aleridian  Ray. 
P.  1 39,  line  1 6.   Original  reading  :   Ofye  Heart,  etc. 
P.  139,  line  20.   soft,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  139,  lines  32,  33.    Out  of,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  From. 
P.  139,  line  36.  milde,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  140,  line  6.  farr,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  140,  line  10.   blessd,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  140,  line  18.   any,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  a. 
P.  140,  line  24.   Original  reading  : 

Ever  was  more  meek  &  tame. 
P.  140.  line  26.   entertain,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  receive. 
P.  141,  line  20.  great,  inserted  by  .Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  141,  line  30. 

And  so  for  ever  glitter  there. 

Original  reading : 

And  for  ever  glittering  there. 


Notes  457 


First  emended  by  Beaumont  to  : 

And  glittering  be  for  ever  there. 
P.  142.  Christmasse  Day.     Marked  P,   but   not   published   in    1749 

edition. 
P.  143,  st.  I,  2,  3.   Marked  by  Gee  for  omission. 
P.  149,  st.  4,  line  1.  And,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  149,  st.  4,  line  2.   Original  reading  :    Who  will  traffiquc,  etc. 
P.  151,  st.  1,  line  6.  For,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  151,  st.  2,  line  1.  And,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  151,  st.  2,  line  6.  high,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  152,  st.  1,  line  3.  own,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  152,  st.  I,  line  6.   all,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  155,  st.  1,  line  2.   more  ample,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  double. 
P.  155,  st.  I,  line  3.   its,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  155,  st.  1,  line  4.   now,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  155,  st.  2,  line  4.  whole,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  155,  st.  2,  line  5.   now,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  155,  st.  3,  line  5.   a  well,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  an. 
P.  155,  st.  4,  line  3.    Onely,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  But. 
P.  157.  Nfavyear  Day.     Marked   P,  and  published  in  1749  edition; 

in  the  margin  is  written  Vid  Page  19  (20  here). 
P.  157,  st.  2,  line  1.   cause,  changed  by  Gee  in  margin  to  raise,  and  sic 

in  1749  edition. 
P.  157,  st.  2  and  4.   Marked  for  omission  by  Gee. 
P.  160,  line  5.   Original  reading  : 

What  shall  y6  Gate  of  Day  A  do  me. 
P.  160,  line  8.   Original  reading: 

Let  in  a  Sun  of  Majestic. 

First  emended  by  Beaumont  to  :  Shew  a  Sun,  etc. 
P.  160,  line  10.   th\  emended  by  Beaumont  from  ye. 
P.  161.  Purification    of    ye    B.    Virgin.       Poem    crossed   out   by 

Beaumont. 
P.  163,  st.  1,  line  2.   doth,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  doe. 
P.  163,  st.  2,  line  4. 

Where  Tray  tors  all  have  fitting  room. 

Original  reading  : 

Where  all  Traytors  have  their  room. 
P.   163,  st.   2,  line  5.  But  still  below,  etc.     Original  reading:  But  all 

below,  etc. 
P.  165.  Ashwednesday.     Marked  P,  but  not  published  in  1749  edition. 
P.  165,  line  2. 

Smiles  never  did  so  sweetly  play. 

Original  reading : 

Ne'r  did  smiles  so  sweetly  play. 

First  emended  to  :  Never  did  smiles,  etc. 
P.    166,   st.    5.    A  Feast,  where  we  may  feed,  etc.,  marked  by  Gee  for 

omission. 
P.  166,  st.  5,  line  2.  up,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 


458     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

P.  168,  st.  1,  line  3.   Original  reading: 

News  most  strange,  <S°  yet  as  true. 

P.  169,  st.  5,  line  6.   Original  reading: 

And  a  Virgin  shall  be  joy  ltd. 

P.  170,  st.  1,  line  3.  ye,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  a. 

P.  175.   Easter.      Marked  P,  but  not  published  in  1749  edition. 

P.   175,  st.    1,   line  3.   Long  since  awake,  etc.  :  original  reading,  Has  be- 
times, etc. 

P.   175,  st.    1,  line    7.     Betimes,     emended    by    Beaumont    from    Long 
since. 

P.  175,  st.  2,  line  1.   quite,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 

P.  176,  st.  2.   From  here  to  end  marked  for  omission  by  Gee. 

P.  179,  st.  2,  line  I.    Two,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 

P.  179,  st.  2,  line  2.   Original  reading:  Mirth,  wch  cheers,  etc. 

P.  179,  st.  3,  line  2.   now,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 

P.  179,  st.  3,  last  line.    Onely,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  But. 

P.  180,  st.  1,  line  1.   For,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 

P.  180,  st.  1,  line  2.   But,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 

P.  180,  st.  2,  line  1.    Great,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 

P.  181,  line  6.   Loud,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 

P.  181,  line  8.   thence,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 

P.  181,  line  9.   rare,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 

P.  181,  line  12.   delicate,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  y*  pure. 

P.  181,  line  20.   Fast,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 

P.  181,  line  26.   his,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 

P.  182,  line  10.   Farr,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 

P.  182,  line  18.   there,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 

P.  182,  line  20.   all,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 

P.  182,  line  26.   Etfn,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 

P.  182,  line  32.   new,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 

P.  183,  line  4.   Original  reading: 

Full  as  good  a  Die  tie. 

P.  183,  line  6.   tipstart,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 

P.  183,  line  7.    Contempt,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  Scornes. 

P.  183,  line  22.   brave,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 

P.  183,  line  26.   Loud,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 

P.  183,  line  32.   bright,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 

P.  186,  line  32.   No  punctuation  after  Day  in  MS. 

P.  189.  Ascension.     Published  in  1749  edition. 

P.  189,  line  10.   this,  changed  by  Gee  to  the. 

P.  189,  line  12.   From  here  on  marked  for  omission  by  Gee,  but  included 
in  1749  edition,  with  omission  of  first  Hallelujah  (line  11). 

P.  192,  st.  3,  last  line,   bright,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 

P.  194.  Whitsunday.     Marked  P,  and  published  in  1749  edition. 

P.  195,  last  line.   Halalujah,  crossed  out  by  Gee. 

P.  196.  Whitsunday.     Marked  P,  and  published  in  1749  edition,  with 
title  On  the  Same. 

P.  197.   Marked  P,  and  published  in  1749  edition,  with  title  On  the 
Same. 


Notes  459 


P.  198,  st.  1,  last  line.  Seing,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  198,  st.  2,  line  5.    Period  inserted  by  editor. 
P.  204,  st.  1,  line  4.    Thou,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  204,  st.  1,  line  6.   Original  reading  : 

And y6  humbler  yeild  to  Thee. 
P.  204,  st.  3,  line  4.   conquering,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  great. 
P.  205,  st.  1,  line  1.   they,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  205,  st.  2,  line  3.   By,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  205,  st.  3,  line  4.   everlasting,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  elernall. 
P.  205,  st.  3,  line  6. 

That  could  be  forg'd  and  hatched  in  Hell. 

Original  reading  : 

That  could  be  contrived  in  Hell. 
P.  206,  st.  2,  line  4.   Ev'n,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  206,  st.  4,  line  2.   unto,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  to. 
P.  206,  st.  4,  line  5.   thus,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  206,  st.  4,  line  6.   hard,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  heard. 
P.  207,  last  line.    Great,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  208,  st.  I,  line  4. 

No  longer  dares  its  Enemie  be. 

Original  reading  : 

Dares  no  more  its  Enemie  be. 
P.  208,  st.  2,  line  4.  for,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  209,  line  18.   all,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  209,  last  line.   Forthwith,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  Strait. 
P.  210,  line  12.    Our,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  210,  line  16.   Period  inserted  by  editor. 
P.  210,  line  17.   For,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  210,  line  26.    Great,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  210,  line  37. 

As  onely  God  &  greater  far. 

Original  reading  : 

As  A  God  more  great  by  far. 
P.  211,  line  14.   Ev'n,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  211,  line  15.    Thus,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  211,  line  1 7.   Forth,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction . 
P.  211,  line  18.    That,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  212,  line  2.  still,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  212,  line  9. 

But  quick  Aurora  sweetly  faire. 

Original  reading  : 

But  Aurora  sweet  6°  faire. 
P.  212,  line  10.   in,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  213,  st.  3,  line  3.   Fair,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  214,  st.  2,  line  2.  blessed,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  great. 
P.  214,  st.  3,   line  9.    Can  conquerd  be,  etc.      Original  reading:   Can  be 

taught,  etc. 
P.  215,  st.  1,  line  2.   all-glorious,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  glorious. 
P.  215,  st.  1,  line  4.   Good,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 


460     Poems  of  Joseph   Beaumont 

P.  215,  st.  2,  line  2.   that,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 

P.  216,  st.  2,  line  3.  strait,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 

P.  216,  st.  3,  line  10.   most,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 

P.  217,  st.  1,  line  2.    Which  did  release,  etc.      Original  reading  :    Which 

released,  etc. 
P.  217,  st.  3,  line  4.    Old,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  217,  st.  3,  line  9.   come,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  218,  st.  3,  line  2.    That,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  219,  st.  1,  line  5.   so,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  219,  st.  2,  line  2.  yet,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  219,  st.  2,  line  3.   soft,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  219,  st.  2,  line  4.  Your,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 


P.  219,  st.  2,  line  9. 
Original  reading 


As  viands  too  too  delicate. 
As  from  Meats  too  delicate. 


P.  220,  st.  2,  line  4. 

Did  thick  &  Foule  obstructions  lay. 

Original  reading  : 

Foule  obstructions  did  lay. 
P.  220,  last  line.    Period  inserted  by  editor. 
P.  221,  st.  2,  line  3.  fair,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  221,  st.  2,  line  4.   All,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  222,  st.  1,  line  1.   No,  none  of  these,  etc.      Original  reading:  I'm  none 

of  these,  etc. 
P.  222,  st.  1,  line  10.   Ev'n,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  222,  st.  2,  line  2.    Immediately,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  By  a?id  by. 
P.  222,  st.  3,  line  2.  great,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  224,  st.   1,  line  2.    The  fullnes  of  ye  zvorld,  etc.      Original   reading  : 

Almost  all y*  world,  etc. 
P.  224,  st.  1,  line  10.   that,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  224,  st.  3,  line  4.   Sanctitie,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  repute. 
P.  224,  st.  3,  line  10.    Unto,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  To. 
P.  225,  st.  2,  line  2.   Period  inserted  by  editor. 
P.  225,  st.  2,  line  3.   as  if  now.      Original  reading:  if  as  now. 
P.  225,  st.  2,  line  10.   his,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  225,  st.  3,  line  10.   all,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  226,  st.  3,  lines  3,  4. 

That  she  as  well  as  all  ye  rest 
Might  with  her  Mother  goe  6°  feast. 

Original  reading : 

That  as  well  as  all  y*  rest 

She  &°  her  Mother  might  goe  feast. 

First  emended  to:  That  now  as  well  as  all ye  rest,  etc. 
P.  226,  st.  3,  line  10.  poor,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.   227,  st.    1,  line  2.  How  He  might  put  on,  etc.      Original   reading  : 

How  to  put  on,  etc. 
P.  227,  st.  3,  line  9.  Farr,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  228,  st.  I,  line  4.   Bearing,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  with. 


Notes  461 


P.    233.    S.   James   ye  Apostle.      Marked   P,   but   not   published   in 

1749  edition. 
P.  233,  line  24.    Period  inserted  by  editor. 
P.  235,  st.  1,  last  line.   Interrogation  point  inserted  by  editor. 
P.  235,  st.  2,  last  line.   Period  inserted  by  editor. 
P.  250,  st.  5,  line  1.   Period  inserted  by  editor. 

P.  251,  st.  1,  line  4.   Iter  did  move.      Original  reading:  did  her  move. 
P.  252,  last  line,   holy,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  252,  last  line.    Period  inserted  by  editor. 

P.  264,  st.  3,  line  10.   more,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  268,  st.  2,  line  10.   Duer,  such  is  apparently  the  reading  of  the  MS. 
P.  271,  st.  1,  line  12.   er,  inserted  by  Beaumont  in  correction. 
P.  272,  last  line,  emulous.     The  reading  of  the  MS.  is  apparently  amulous, 

but  the  sense  seems  to  require  the  present  reading. 
P.  272,  last  line.   Period  inserted  by  editor. 
P.  282,  st.  7,  line  2.   think,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  weep. 
P.  283,  st.  8,  line  9.  are,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  doe. 
P.  288,  st.  1,  line  5.    They,  1749  edition,  gay. 
P.    289,    st.    7,    line    1.    Original    reading   given,    though    emended   by 

Beaumont  to  . 

Why  dost  Thou  go  in  ye  way  about. 

Changed  by  Gee  to  read  : 

Why  dost  Thou  go  viuch  way  about. 

P.  289,  st.  7,  line  6.   long,  1749  edition,  firm. 

P.  289,  st.  8,  line  1.    Cutt,  1749  edition,  way. 

P.  292,  st.  2,  last  line.   Period  inserted  by  editor. 

P.  296,  st.  1,  line  5.   Comma  after  Purses  crossed  out  by  Beaumont. 

P.   298.   Humane  Revenge.     Marked  P,  but  not  published  in   1749 

edition. 
P.  3°5»  st.  5,  line  9. 

Original  reading  : 

His  dear  Side. 
P.  305,  st.  5,  line  13.  five,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  three. 
P.  306.    Hope.     Published  in  1749  edition. 
P.  307,  st.  5.   Marked  for  omission  by  Gee. 
P.  308.   Idleness.      Published  in  1749  edition. 

P.  310,  line  22.   In  the  MS.  there  is  a  period  after  touch,  an  evident  slip. 
P.    324.    Whiteness,   or   Chastitie.      Marked   P,   and   published  in 

1749  edition. 
P.  325.   A  Morning  Hymn.     Marked  P,  and  published  in  1749  edition. 
P.  325,  lines  7,  8.   Marked  for  omission  by  Gee. 
P.  325,  line  14.   Changed  by  Gee  to  read  : 

To  clear  Visions  all  shall  grow. 
P.  326.  An  Evening  Hymn.     Marked  P,  and  published  in  1749  edition. 
P.  326,  line  16.   deer,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  roseal. 
P.  326,  line  19.  soundlier,  changed  by  Gee  to  sounder. 
P«  334»  st-  2»  line  3*  plead,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  preach. 


Feet  &•  Side. 


462     Poems  of  Joseph  Beaumont 

P.  341,  st.  7,  last  line. 

To  swell  my  Weeks  dimension. 
Original  reading : 

To  swell  up  its  dimension. 
P«  345»  st.  9,  line  2.   show,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  grow. 
P.    346.    Content.     Marked    P,   and  published  in    1749  edition  with 

omission  of  stanzas  3,  4,  5. 
P-  353,  st.  5,  line  7.   that,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  my. 
P.  356.  A  Dialogue.     Published  in  1749  edition. 
P.  359,  line  24.   Remove  the  Stone.      Period  inserted  by  editor. 
P.  362,  line  11.   open  sett,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  do  display. 
P.  362,  line  15.  truly,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  true. 
P.  362,  line  16.   Original  reading  : 

Worth,  to  glorious  Thee  to  day. 
P.  362-3,  st.  2,  3.   Original  reading  : 

No  more 
My  store 
Of  Incense  soreth 
Upward,  but  towreth 
Down,  to  reach  the  loftiest  skie ; 
For  now 
Below 
In  this  mean  Manger 
Its  God's  a  Stranger, 
ht  this  mean  Manger 
Dwelleth  all  Sublimitie : 
Cho.      Yet  durst  not  think  it  self  is  sweet, 

Till  kissed  6°  blessed  by  thy  deer  feet. 

3 
lo  heer 
This  Myrrh 
Its  meekest  duty 
To  that  bright  Beuty 
Of  thy  humane  Nature  brings 
By  which 
Our  rich 
Arabia  sendeth 
And  recommendeth 
Th'  ernes t  of  its  sweetest  Things 
Cho.      Which  Sweets,  yf  they  thy  favour  gain 
Shall  Paradise  it  self  disdain. 
P.  363,  line  2.   First  emended  to  Aloft,  but  towreth. 
P.  363,  line  3.   First  emended  to  : 

Down  to  reach  the  higher  skie. 
P.  368,  st.  12,  line  7.   Original  reading  : 

My  own  Soules  Loss :  oh  rather  in  the  Sea. 
P.  369,  line  1.   Original  reading: 

How  much  more  worse  than  vain. 


Notes  463 


P.  369,  line  6.  true,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  best. 

P.  372.  Easter  Dialoge.     Published  in  1749  edition. 

P-  393>  st-  3»  line  3-  Joyes,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  Hopes. 

P«  393>  st-  3>  line  3-   UP>  emended  by  Beaumont  from  high. 

P.  398.  The  Journe.     Original  title  :    The   Visit.      Marked  P,   but 
only  the  first  stanza  published  in  1749  edition. 

P*    399-    The  Winter -Spring.      Marked  P,  and  published  in    1749 
edition. 

P-  399»  st-  3>  nne  t*  painted,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  written. 

P.  400,  st.  5,  line  2.   didst,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  dost. 

P.  403,  line  1.   deckest,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  trimest. 

P.  409,  line  5.    Wounds  6°  Death,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  Death  <5r- 
Wounds. 

P.  411,  st.  2,  line  2.  deadly,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  wretched. 

P.  420.   Friends.      Marked  P,  and  published  in  1749  edition. 

P.  421,  st.  5.   Marked  for  omission  by  Gee. 

P.    424,    st.    3,    line    1.   Repugnancy,  emended  by  Beaumont  from    im- 
possibility. 

P.  426,  st.  3,  line  5. 

What  ExcHlance  can  in  her  be  seen. 
Original  reading  : 

What  excellance  in  her  be  seen. 

P.  428,  st.  2,  line  1.   bold,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  fond. 

P.  431,  st.  6,  line  3.   Brute,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  Beast. 

P.  432.    Honor.      Marked  P,  and  published  in  1749  edition. 

P.  432,  st.  3,  line  2.   dangerous,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  headstrong. 

P.  433,  st.  5.   Marked  for  omission  by  Gee. 

P.  434,  st.  3,  line  3.   the,  sic  in  MS. 

P.  436.   Selflove.      Marked  P,  but  not  published  in  1749  edition. 

P.  440,  st.  3,  line  1.   looser,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  antik. 

P.  442,  st.  1,  line  6.  jollity,  emended  by  Beaumont  from  a?nity. 


THE    END 


Printed  by  R.  &  R.  Clark,  Limited,  Edinburgh. 


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